


Two for One

by andIwillwrite500more (prototyping)



Series: Two wrongs don't make a right (and that's just fine) [2]
Category: Tales of Zestiria
Genre: Characters Added As They Appear - Freeform, F/M, Post-Canon, Romance, Unrequited Love, a bit of background Alisha/Sorey, fight scenes nobody asked for, this is a collection now
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-04-13
Updated: 2019-09-07
Packaged: 2019-12-18 13:35:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 21,494
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18250904
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/prototyping/pseuds/andIwillwrite500more
Summary: When boosting Alisha's resonance proves successful, Mikleo continues to act as her conduit－for Sorey's sake, to protect all he left behind and to make sure he eventually wakes. It's just a task, a job, a mutual agreement between mature adults and beneficial to all parties involved. There's no reason to think it's personal, no reason to assume it changes anything.No reason at all. [Mikleo/Alisha]





	1. Chapter 1

“What do you think we should tell the others?”

Alisha doesn’t immediately answer and he’s not sure if she’s thinking or too embarrassed to say. She doesn’t look at him, either, but keeps her gaze forward as Ladylake’s bridge comes into view over the crest of the hill.

Mikleo hasn’t asked about it until now, but she’s had three days to consider it and Rose is due back anytime. Even the two of them have avoided discussing the events of that night; it hasn’t been necessary, really, since they can only wait for the pact to confirm that her resonance has definitely been boosted. Other than heading out into the forest to scan for malevolence, like today, they haven’t spent much time together since then, so there haven’t been many opportunities even if they did want to discuss it. Alisha has a long list of responsibilities and Mikleo still has hellions to hunt.

“The truth,” she answers finally. “There’s no reason to delay it, no matter how... out-of-place I feel talking about it.” In the corner of his eye her shoulders fidget, embarrassed. “I chose to help, not to simply satisfy my feelings of inadequacy.”

It’s a very _Alisha_ type of answer and he can’t help a small, admiring smile, but it soon fades and he speaks up again. “Still, if you’d rather not explain it, I don’t blame you.” He doesn’t envy the looks and crass comments she’s surely earned from Zaveid in particular. “Lailah will need to reactivate the pact, but… I could always wait until we’ve left Ladylake to tell the others. Maybe by the time we return, they won’t make a big deal about it,” he remarks dryly, telling how much faith he really has in that possibility.

Alisha chuckles warmly. “Thank you, but… no, I’m alright. I brought this choice upon myself. The least I can do is own up to it.”

He glances at her uncertainly. He’s noticed that she tends to speak as though she’s solely to blame for what happened. She might have instigated the affair, and convinced him to join her, and this may all very well have been for her sake－but at the end of the day it was a two-person effort, making him just as responsible.

“...Alisha－” He hesitates, even when she openly looks at him. “Don’t be too hard on yourself. You said before that you were being selfish, but－” This kind of modesty doesn’t come easily to him; he searches briefly for the right words. “I think you’ve been the opposite, honestly. If you’re... ashamed of what you had to－what happened, I understand. But even then, you were only－” He realizes he’s alone and stops. Turning back, he discovers Alisha several steps behind him, her expression stern.

“I’m not,” she declares firmly. When he only stares at her, she clarifies, “I’m not ashamed of what we did. And I never will be.” Despite her rigid demeanor, her cheeks grow warm. “I admit, it’s… still very new, so it’s strange to think about, and perhaps I seem... uneasy as a result. But your consent meant everything to me, and I won’t ever disrespect your generosity by thinking of that night as some sort of… sacrifice.”

He’s the first to look away, his face the same color as hers. Calling it his _generosity_ is a bit over-the-top. It isn’t as though he didn’t get something out of it.

“Besides, even if…” With a self-conscious smile her features soften and her eyes drop. “...Even if Zaveid had been wrong, and it hadn’t worked… I would certainly be disappointed, but… not at all ashamed,” she says quietly. “I would say it was… still time well spent.”

She glances at him again and her blush deepens under his surprised stare. Her right hand tightens around her spear, her left distractedly brushing her bangs from her eyes. “That－perhaps it’s a presumptuous thing to say－but I only meant that I－I don’t regret anything. So… please don’t think that I feel badly about what transpired.”

_I’m glad it was you,_ she said. He still thinks about that more than he should.

“I believe you,” he assures her quickly, as they both avoid eye contact. “I was just…” _Concerned._ “...You shouldn’t feel as though you’re alone in this. We both…” He trails off, but Alisha spares him.

“Not at all,” she says fondly. “Besides, I find it impossible to feel lonely when you’re around.” With that casual statement, she resumes her pace and strides past him, expecting him to fall back into place beside her. After a thoughtful few seconds, he does. “At any rate,” she continues, trying for her neutral tone again, “the sooner the others know, the sooner I can be of help when the situation arises.”

Mikleo nods with an affirmative hum. Being helpful is what this whole matter is about, for both of them, regardless of regrets－or even the lack thereof.

* * *

Rose actually intercepts them just inside the town’s gates. She seems as upbeat as ever, but Mikleo knows her behavior by now and the way she’s a little _too_ casual tells him what she doesn’t immediately say: still no luck on hunting the source of the malevolence.

“Not a whole lot to report,” she admits, “but if you two are headed back to the manor, we’ll tag along. There’s been some movement to the south and I’d like an insider’s eye on Hyland’s military activity.”

Alisha nods promptly. “Certainly. But can this wait until noontime? I have a council meeting shortly, and I can inquire further about the military’s movements for you there. There are some things I would like to speak about with you all, as well, so I want us to have ample time to converse.”

Lailah suddenly appears at Rose’s side. “I think that works out, Rose. We can rest until then. There isn’t any rush, and you haven’t eaten since yesterday, besides.”

_You mean **we** haven’t eaten since yesterday,_ Edna’s voice grumbles.

Lailah chuckles as Rose relents with a shrug. “Sounds good to me.”

“Splendid!” Lailah claps her hands with unexpected cheer. “In the meantime, Alisha, Mikleo, would you walk with me for a few minutes?”

Once alone, the three of them start at a steady pace up the road with Lailah slightly leading. She doesn’t speak much, likely conscious of the crowds and not wanting to force Alisha to apparently speak to thin air, but once they cross into the nobles’ quarter and the noise and public presence die down, she falls back to match their pace. Her bubbly air fades and her smile is now a more solemn one.

She gets straight to the point. “Mikleo－you’ve shared your domain with Alisha, haven’t you?”

Alisha stiffens in surprise, but Mikleo only averts his gaze. “I was wondering if you would be able to tell,” he admits slowly. “My domain is currently empowered by yours, after all.”

Lailah nods. “Mm. I felt a shift of power the other night, likely right as the transfer occurred.”

“Please－don’t think badly of Mikleo.” Alisha stops and turns to them both, her face pink again but her expression sincere. “I was the one who pushed for it. He was nothing but concerned for me the entire－”

Lailah gently shakes her head. “That was a decision between the two of you. You’re both free to do as you please. Although…” She laces her fingers in front of her with a tilt of her head and a self-conscious quirk of her mouth. “I admit you caught me by surprise. I never would have imagined you would actually act on what I told you. Especially not so quickly.”

“I was… eager,” Alisha confesses, “yes. But I fully believe this is the best way I can be of service－to Hyland, and to Sorey.” Lailah’s eyes flicker briefly to Mikleo’s face and back－so briefly that for a moment he thinks he imagined it, and then finds it a little odd when he realizes he didn’t. “So… please, Lailah, reinstate the pact between Rose and myself. I’ll cooperate with you all to the best of my ability.”

“Of course. As long as Rose agrees, I see no reason not to.”

Alisha bows. “Thank you. I promise to do everything in my power to help resolve this issue plaguing the land.”

“We’re happy for the assistance.” Lailah’s warm smile falters and she wonders, “In the meantime, shall I inform the others of your intentions?”

Before Alisha can turn down the offer, Mikleo speaks up. “I’ll－do it.”

She stares at him. “Mikleo－”

“You said it’s best they know as soon as possible, right? It’ll save time since you’ll be at the meeting, anyway.” He can’t believe he’s actually volunteering to give Rose, Zaveid, _and_ Edna free rein to humiliate him for a few hours, but he means what he says－and if he can spare Alisha some of the discomfort in the process, he might as well.

She watches him a few moments more. She looks as though she wants to argue, but perhaps his words from earlier got through to her. “If you’re certain...”

He manages a look of indifference that’s hopefully more confident than he feels. “It’s fine. Just worry about the meeting.”

With a quick nod and word of thanks, Alisha excuses herself and hurries off to her manor to clean up and change. Both seraphim stare after her until she’s out of sight.

“Do you really think this is a good idea?” Lailah asks.

Mikleo sighs silently. “When she gets like this, there’s no stopping her. But she’s committed; she knows what she wants.”

“Yes, but… do you think this is a good idea for _you?_ ”

“I’m helping her－and Sorey,” he answers coolly. “There’s no reason not to.” Lailah looks away with a small, sad smile and says nothing. “...Besides, she would have found a way even if I declined. She... deserves better than that.”

“I see.” Lailah hums quietly, thoughtfully, and then after a moment regards him with a kind look. “I’m certain you have good intentions, Mikleo. But… make sure to consider your own interests, as well.” She smiles at his puzzled expression, but there’s still something serious in it. “I’m sorry if I sound patronizing,” she adds. “I just… hope you’ve thought this through.”

“No, it’s alright. I appreciate you looking out for us.” As she always does. “But she and I each have our reasons, and I’m certain we’re confident in them. We’ll be fine.” He’s done well not to come off too awkward so far, but now he can feel his face growing warm as he goes on, “I do have one question, though. About the… transfer. You said before that it’s only temporary.”

“Yes. I admit I don’t know much about this method－as far as I’m aware it’s been centuries since it was discovered, and the interest in it died rather quickly. But I do recall that the duration varies from person to person. Alisha’s resonance was already higher than average, so I imagine she would keep your domain longer than most. Only time will tell for certain.”

“Do you have a guess how long it might stay with her?”

“Mm…” She taps her chin thoughtfully. “Two weeks or so? Perhaps more, given Sorey’s effect on her power. In the worst-case scenario, she would need to have it transferred anew daily－”

Mikleo nearly chokes. _“Daily?”_

“Yes, but she’s on the third day and I can tell it’s still going strong,” Lailah tells him, either missing or ignoring his reaction. “So, a four-day cycle at the lowest.”

“...I－I see. Alright.” Four days is still a lot. Even two weeks seems like a lot－Lailah did say _temporary_ before, not _fleeting_. Mikleo had been optimistically imagining a month or more, given the extent of her power.

Not that the frequency changes anything. Even if it were required every day, he wouldn’t _mind_ , necessarily－at least, not with regards to being any less willing－but－

He shoves those thoughts aside. He’s sure Alisha won’t change her mind, whatever the final number, and he won’t, either.

Catching Lailah’s studious stare, he clears his throat. “That’s fine. We’ll be fine.” His curiosity gets the better of him and he wonders, “So is inefficiency the reason the method died out?”

“...One of the reasons, yes.”

“Only one?”

“Mm…” Lailah doesn’t respond right away, her hands clasped tight, and Mikleo recognizes that reaction.

“...But you think I shouldn’t concern myself with the rest,” he deduces slowly, “lest I repeat the same mistakes.”

Her sad smile returns. “Sorey did well in carving his own path as the Shepherd. I believe you and Alisha can do the same, according to your own beliefs and convictions. If this is the path you’ve chosen, you should walk it without any preconceptions from the past.”

That confidence is reassuring; Mikleo doesn’t inquire any further. For a moment Lailah looks as though she’s going to say something more, but then decides against it as her cheer picks up again. “Well, shall we rejoin the others?”


	2. Chapter 2

Mikleo arrives at the manor a few hours after dark, around thirty minutes before Alisha’s estimated return time. After patrolling the city in idleness for a while, even Ladylake’s interesting architecture isn’t enough to calm his restless thoughts, and dark clouds have started rolling in besides. He might as well wait for her while he tries to get his head in order.

Except she beats him to it. She’s waiting on the terrace, seated at the table with a loaded tea tray in front of her that, judging by the way her hands are settled in her lap and her eyes are fixed on the opposite hedge, she has little interest in touching.

He slows down when he sees her, mildly surprised, but she notices him and quickly turns with a smile. “You’re early,” Mikleo notes as he ascends the staircase. “Did it go well?”

“Mm. Everything important was said at the start, and I’m… not one for drinking the night away.” Her smile turns a bit dry, reflecting the same disinterest in her tone when she told him about the political get-together earlier today. Apparently it was a more formal event than he guessed: she’s dressed in a white-and-navy gown and matching elbow-length gloves, her hair pulled up in a complicated style beneath a silver tiara.

It’s the most _princess_ he’s ever seen her look—and it fits, he immediately decides. Alisha wears elegance just as well as she does her knight’s garb.

“You’re also early,” she points out curiously.

Mikleo takes the chair across from her. “I had some free time. Today was as good a day as any for your resonance to drop; the malevolence outside has been pretty low.”

“That’s good to hear. I’ll dare to hope it stays that way this time.”

As will he, although he isn’t putting too much faith in the possibility. As far as he and the rest of the group can tell, there’s been zero pattern to the rise and fall of malevolence lately. Sometimes it stays high for days no matter how many hellions they put down; at others it seems to drop of its own accord, and then rises again with just as little warning.

“Hopefully,” he agrees.

Alisha’s smile stays but her eyes drop, settling on the table in that way that says she’s in deeper thought than she’ll admit. Mikleo doesn’t have to think too hard to guess where her mind is.

“If… you’re too tired,” he ventures slowly, “we can wait. There’s no rush, so…”

Her gaze snaps up at that, and now her smile turns apologetic. “No, it’s alright. I’ve… had a lot to think about, that’s all. I’m glad for your company; you’re very easy to relax around, if I’m being honest.”

Well, that’s good. Better than her being a nervous wreck given what’s to follow—but then, at the moment they’re still out here, casual and friendly. There’s still plenty of time to feel awkward.

Mikleo can’t make the same claim about being totally relaxed around her, so after a moment he asks, “How could you tell, anyway? That your resonance changed.”

“I can’t feel the city’s malevolence anymore. It wasn’t terribly noticeable to begin with—I’ve felt worse—but I was able to tell when it was gone.”

“It’s good that you can notice it right away, then,” he muses. “Lailah did say the timing might not always be exact.”

“Mm. It’s certainly more convenient than guessing.”

 _And safer,_ Mikleo adds silently.

Alisha draws breath, hesitates. She looks aside, and then at him. “Mikleo—I hope I didn’t come off… demanding, this afternoon. If you would rather not… or if it isn’t…” She clears her throat quietly and glances down at her hands. “I’m aware I don’t need to be Rose’s squire at _all_ times, so… at present there isn’t a dire need to—to share your domain with me, if…”

He was alright until she stammered. Mikleo looks out over the lawn even as his focus stays on her in the corner of his vision. The rain has finally started, a light drizzle tapping the roof overhead. “It’s fine. I understand it’s a precaution. Better to be prepared than caught off guard, after all.”

“Even so… having to do so once a week—I understand if that’s too—if it doesn’t work for you.”

Mikleo resists a frown as he turns to her. She really is assuming the best of him. Even now she’s more concerned about inconveniencing him than anything else.

“Does it work for you?” he asks. Alisha looks surprised by the question. He pushes, “Think of yourself, too. Even if it’s to help your country… even if it’s to help Sorey, he wouldn’t want you taking on too much. So…” He feels his face grow warm but he keeps his tone steady. “So it goes both ways. Once a week is doable, but… it doesn’t mean we always have to. I’ll say no when I think it’s necessary, but you should, too.”

He shuts up, feeling like he’s rambled more than he ought.

Alisha gives a warm hum and he looks up to see her rubbing her arm, self-conscious but smiling. He isn’t sure if it’s the topic at hand or the way she’s dressed but she seems softer than usual. Less guarded. “...I understand. And besides, I should trust you to be honest and tell me directly when I’m too overbearing.”

Mikleo’s intended response of _I will_ somehow comes out as “You’re not.”

Her smile quirks shyly. “And… agreed, we should be open to refusing, if we feel so inclined. No excuses necessary.”

“Right. And… I haven’t... changed my mind. I’m fine with—tonight.”

She nods. “As am I.”

That said, neither of them immediately moves to make good on that decision. The rain is starting to pick up, but the constant drumming makes for a serene atmosphere that Mikleo is in no rush to disturb. He likes being around her. The events of last week haven’t changed that. The simple, content feeling of being in the company of someone dear to him is something he took for granted for eighteen years; he’s determined not to overlook such a privilege again.

So after a long moment, he comments, “I paid another visit to the aqueduct this afternoon. Nothing major, but I looked into the hieroglyphs we found on that dais.” He hesitates, unsure if she’s in the mood to talk about such things or if she even really cares about it, but Alisha’s face immediately lights up with interest.

“What did you find? Was it related to the founding of the city, after all?”

For the next half hour they go back and forth, mostly with Mikleo explaining and speculating and Alisha listening, agreeing, or offering some fresh insight. There’s still a small part of him that aches, deep inside, knowing someone is missing from this conversation, but he accepted the sting of that burden years ago. It won’t be this way forever, and there’s no sense in letting his own dream idle in the meantime.

By the time they fall silent again, things feel much more normal and relaxed. That part of their relationship hasn’t changed—two friends with common interests, comfortable with chatting and getting lost in their own world. For a while they forget what tonight is about and that’s alright; it’s a good thing, Mikleo thinks, because the casual majority of the time that they spend together is worth more, _made of_ more than that of the passionate minority. He’s glad that they _can_ still have easy moments like these.

They might have stayed a while longer, but the storm winds are stronger and even the cover of the porch no longer shields them entirely from the rain. Alisha rises first and he follows her inside, greeted immediately by the pleasant smells of aged cedar and something lightly floral, scents he’s come to associate with her.

She slips her arm through his as they go and for an instant he’s surprised—until he notices her easy expression and realizes she probably didn’t think twice about it, especially after an evening of likely trading similar gestures as social cues demanded. He has an idea of where her quarters are but lets her lead by her gentle touch, their walk interrupted only when she stops to tell one of her maids that she’s retiring for the night, and not to disturb her until morning. His heart skips a couple beats but he keeps his countenance straight.

The guestroom he usually stays in isn’t small, but Alisha’s bedroom dwarfs it. It’s large and furnished, but not garishly or even all that extravagantly. It looks like a room she doesn’t actively spend much time in; plenty of furniture, but few personal items.

He closes the door behind them and takes a few seconds longer than necessary to turn around, hastily and aggressively assuring himself that there’s no reason to be nervous this time. His heart doesn’t get the message and continues to feel as though he jogged all the way here. His face is already warm when he finally turns to Alisha; hers is as well, but her eyes don’t shy away.

They start slow—but while last time was entirely out of uncertainty and shyness, this time it’s patience, as well, and some curiosity born from familiarity. They’re in no rush, as he said before, and they take advantage of it: for a while it’s just simple touches and unhurried kisses, every movement eager but relaxed, wanting but not demanding. It takes him nearly as long to get his overcoat off, anyway, even with her helping.

Her arms around his neck, her hips beneath his hands, her warm mouth on his—somehow his memory of that night has paled in the last few days compared to how amazing she really feels. She leans into him, flush and confident, and his control slips for an instant to gently catch her lip between his teeth and brush it with his tongue. She breathes into him heavily, her hold tightening.

She’s the first lose patience with their clothes, discarding her long gloves and then gliding her hands under his shirt to roam his chest, his back, for a good minute before pulling it over his head. He pauses just long enough to set his circlet aside and then his hands are on her once more, searching behind her for the buttons to her dress and instead finding a row of knotted threads. Alisha quickly turns around, her breathing heavy as she waits, and despite his dexterity it takes Mikleo nearly a minute to undo all the tightly wound laces.

He watches the subtle muscles in her back flex as the dress slides off of her as smoothly as water. Her skin looks the softest he’s ever seen it in the low light of the wall-mounted lamps; he takes a generous look at the gentle slope of her neck, the curve of her thighs, and what little her thin underclothes still conceal. He expects her to turn back to him, but she only glances over her shoulder.

“Don’t stop,” she whispers.

Her bodice comes off much faster. She leans back into his chest with a short sigh, catching his hands as his arms move around her middle, and he feels the tremble in her.

He nuzzles her hair, the side of her throat, and brushes his open mouth along the top of her shoulder as she softly hums her approval. He strokes the front of her thighs, holding her against him and feeling her full-body shiver as he kisses her neck proper, slow and lingering. Her pulse is fast against his lips as he moves up, just under her ear, and her fingers thread through his and drag one hand onto her stomach. He obliges and caresses the soft skin, breathing hot against her hair as he moves up to her ribs, and hesitates, until she moans a beseeching _“Mikleo—”_

She presses into him more firmly as he cups her breast, gently kneading and stroking. She’s as soft and warm as he remembers, her touch and her sounds equally exhilarating and it’s much faster this time, that rising heat and desire to touch her and kiss her and _have_ her without stopping－

Alisha pulls away and he has to check the urge to gently pull her back. To his relief she returns just as quickly, turning around to step into his arms again. Their skins meet and he hears her breathe in, feels her breathe out. Her hands slide up his chest to cup his face and for a moment she holds him, tilting her forehead against his and closing her eyes and saying nothing. He watches her, waiting patiently because tonight might as well be forever with how much of it they have left—and he enjoys this besides, her trust and her intimacy in all its forms.

His massaging touch on her back is light, comforting, asking for nothing more at the moment. She hums, a happy sound, and gives his eyes a searching look despite the flush in her face. “Mikleo,” she says quietly, but clearly, “I want… Given the nature of… what we’re doing, and… how often, I…” She leans back to look at him fully, chewing the inside of her lip, but her touch stays on his face. “I want us… to be comfortable talking about this, as well. I know it… it isn’t easy, but…” Her thumb strokes his cheek. “But I don’t think we have anything to hide. And… I want to make this… as… enjoyable for you－” Her eyes glance downward. “－as I can. For both of us,” she quickly corrects. “What I’m saying is… you can be honest with me. If there’s something you didn’t like last time－or something you did－then… please, tell me. This is something we share, and…” Her voice lowers as her smile shrinks and turns coy. “I think… we should enjoy it.”

He gets what she’s saying. He genuinely appreciates her thoughtfulness, but the most he can offer in response is, “That－yeah. I agree. But you don’t－you don’t have to worry. Everything last time was…” He can feel the heat radiating off his face. “I wouldn’t change anything.”

She exhales quietly, a sympathetic sound as she gives a light nod. “I agree. All the same, if… if something does come to mind, then…”

“Y-Yeah. That goes for you, too.”

Alisha kisses him again, longer than before, and the way she pulls back with that shy smile in place chips further at his dwindling patience. Luckily she takes his hand and, just she did a week ago, leads him towards the bed—but she stops beside it, tugging him to her as she leans back against the tall bedpost, and kisses him deeply this time, her fingertips pressing hard on his back to keep him flush against her.

His fingers slip into her hair as he cups her head but he doesn’t let it down, doesn’t remove her tiara. He wants this delicate, proper side of her as much as any other. He wants Alisha the princess, the knight, the human, the friend, anything and everything she’ll give him.

Things quickly become more heated. They’re faster, clumsier, and not as gentle, although there’s still a methodical intent to every motion, hunger tempered by the desire to make certain it isn’t over too quickly.

Alisha doesn’t restrain her voice as much, gasping and murmuring as he takes to her neck in bold, sucking kisses. She breathes a fervid confession— _Your hands feel amazing_ —and he doesn’t hesitate to oblige, gently stroking and squeezing, tracing and caressing until she’s flushed more deeply and panting and her kisses stall as she focuses on his touch, eyes heavy and a moan purring in her chest. She gropes for his pants and he doesn’t know if her coordination is truly so off or the bold grasp of her fingers is calculated, but his hips move on reflex and pin her against the post with a force that makes them both groan.

She looks him in the eye as her hips push back, acknowledging his body’s craving—although it’s been noticeable for minutes now, ever since freeing her of that bodice—and this time Mikleo isn’t embarrassed by the giveaway. He’s too focused on her heavy-lidded look of desire, on trying to slip his suddenly-clumsy hands down the back of her lacy underwear, and when he finally manages—stroking her skin, pulling her closer, as he slowly works the bit of clothing down over her thighs—she arches, her nails biting his shoulders in that way he’s come to like.

The last of their clothes are soon gone and it’s just skin against amazing skin. He takes the initiative and she follows, their kiss breaking long enough for her to lie back atop her still-made bed. She pulls him down on top of her and this time there’s no shy uncertainty on either end—just her tongue in his mouth and her legs wrapped around him, his hands all over her as his weight settles against her and she sighs, the sound sending chills down his spine.

Perhaps passing the hurdle of that first-time awkwardness has made them bolder. If the first night was straight to the point, a means to an end, _business_ , then tonight is a detour, an easy pace, a mutual interest in discovering just how much they can get out of it.

They slow down again, still entangled, the grip of her fingers melting into strokes of her palms, his heavy kisses traded for grazes along the hollow of her throat. It’s so little and so much all at once, as teasing as it is satisfying.

They break to catch their breaths, wordlessly taking in each other’s flushed faces and heavy gazes and disheveled hair. Alisha suddenly remembers her tiara and reaches up for it, but Mikleo gently catches her hand. When she gives him a questioning look, his face gains another shade of red as he glances aside.

“Leave it,” he says quietly. It’s too soft to be a command. “If… that’s alright.”

Alisha blinks at him—is her blush also a little brighter now?—but then her shy smile returns and she hums her consent. Her palms stroke his chest again and her eyes follow the motion. “Why is that?” she wonders.

The arm propping him up nearly buckles. “Why?” he echoes.

She shifts underneath him, her soft thighs rubbing his sides, and it’s hard to concentrate on her words. “It isn’t strange?” she murmurs. “I know I’m not… what you imagine a princess to be…”

That pulls his head out of his hormones a little bit. “No, but—that’s fine—you’re better, anyway—” He stammers and backtracks, “I mean—I meant—I didn’t mean that you’re different—in a bad way—just—surprising—”

He’ll take her stubbornness, her recklessness, even the weight of her ache for someone else—Alisha with her flaws and her baggage is more desirable to him than a dozen perfect storybook princesses. He’s fallen this hard for her as she is, not what she could be.

He finally collects himself, somewhat, and offers lamely, “It’s just that you… It... looks nice. On you.” He’s never one to give compliments and even that much is an awkward struggle, but he sticks by it.

In a way, he almost regrets getting rid of her dress so soon.

She chuckles lightly with a self-conscious tilt of her head. “Well… thank you.” Her fingertips brush over his lips. “Perhaps I won’t feel so out-of-place when I wear it now.”

For an instant Mikleo feels bolder than he can describe and wants to tell her that she can dress as formally as she wants around him, that he’ll gladly help her feel comfortable in anything.

The words don’t come but he still balks at the thought of them, his mouth twitching in embarrassment—and he’s surprised when Alisha’s finger slips delicately past his parted lips, lightly stroking the sensitive inside of the lower.

“Truthfully,” she whispers, “I must look like a mess. I’m a little envious of how you still look so lovely, even now.”

Mikleo is about to assure her in some vague, offhanded way that she’s plenty beautiful with her blushing skin and the way strands of her hair have come loose and fallen around her neck, but that compliment catches him off guard. It’s the first time she’s commented on his looks, and while he’s already wholly confident that he’s attractive, hearing it from her—honest, aroused, breathless—is something else.

Perhaps she notices: her hips push against his, gentle but obvious, and she loses some of her reserve and quietly, _quietly_ gasps, “You’re always so beautiful.”

She’s hot and trembling all over and calling him beautiful—he could immediately give in and take her with just a few quick movements, but he holds his impatience back a little longer. Maybe it’s that competitive nature he’s always carried, but he doesn’t want to be the one to cave this time. He wants to hear her ask.

He trails kisses over her hand, a simple little gesture that takes her breath away even now. He learns her anew, all over, with his hands as well as his mouth, as slowly and attentively as he can manage until her moans and her sweat and the curve of her arching back betray how badly she wants him. That in itself is almost satisfying enough.

She said she likes his hands and he gives them to her, his dexterous fingers seeking out those weak spots again. She probably doesn’t need the stimulation this far in, but he gives it gladly and she takes it eagerly, moaning and crying out, imploring and commanding him. He isn’t as thorough as he could be, intent on leaving her a little wanting, and judging by her squirming and sharp groans, she doesn’t think it’s enough.

By the time they get to the actual sex, they’re both on fire. Every touch is stimulating, every movement amazing even before she finally gives in—not by asking for it, but by rolling him onto his back and taking it.

He considers it his win all the same.

* * *

The second morning-after isn’t quite as awkward as the first.

There are still the small, unpleasant details—he’s sore, sticky, and has smelled better—but there are improvements, too. He’s not _as_ sore, partly because she didn’t scratch him as badly. He also doesn’t wake to the shock of her dried blood on their thighs and the sheets, something he still feels guilty for overlooking despite her assurance that it was a normal occurrence.

The two of them aren’t in a tangle like before, but they’re still close enough for Alisha to have wrapped both her hands around one of his, their knees brushing beneath the twisted sheets that stop around their hips. She looks even softer in the morning light, with her fair skin untouched by the heat of desire and all that tension of anticipation melted out of her.

Watching her peaceful face as she sleeps, Mikleo recalls that she didn’t look as uncomfortable last night, either. Still a wince here and there, but not like before. All the same, he brushes a featherlight touch along the side of her throat (it’s probably a little raw) and then over her thigh (he doesn’t think she was rough—on the contrary, she was almost cautiously gentle—but just in case), channeling a small healing arte. It will spare her some of the aches and pains when she wakes.

He gently untangles her tiara from her hair, and then carefully works the loose ribbon free to watch her bright locks spill across the pillow. Her fingers tighten slightly, but she goes on sleeping.

He considers leaving before she wakes—she would just assume he had somewhere to be and take no offense, surely—but after a couple minutes of debate he decides against it. Besides being rather rude, it feels a little too much like running away. Even if lying here with her for a while isn’t ideal—too much time to reflect on the thoughts he’s been trying to downplay lately, too much potential to doubt the confidence he showed Lailah—it’s better to face that uncertainty as it comes. Falling into denial is dangerous, especially for a seraph, and he already has enough passive regret on his conscience as it is. The sooner he gets over his mess of feelings, the better, and this is the one opportunity he’s been given to do so willingly, not after the fact.

Mikleo looks down at their joined hands. Her fingers have comfortably warmed his own, different from the heat of when they grasped his shoulders hours ago.

He glances over her gentle curves, first revealed in necessity and now left bare in casual comfort. If today is anything like last week, she won’t shy away from his eyes when she rises to get dressed.

He studies her relaxed face, the soft mouth that’s been bolder each time in seeking out what he likes, what makes him react—the same mouth that will greet him with an easy smile when she wakes, that will say his name as casually and respectfully as always, as though she’s never moaned and shouted it with desperate desire.

It would be all too easy for Alisha to leave once the act is over, or ask him to, but both times they’ve stayed, sharing this quiet moment the following morning. Mikleo appreciates it—that comfort, that trust, the reassurance that this strange arrangement hasn’t built any awkward walls around her. It’s another way of enjoying her company, even if it’s an odd in-between on their personal spectrum of _friendship_ versus _necessity_. It’s an intimacy of a different kind, unspoken and asking for nothing.

He appreciates it.

But it’s still the hardest part of their relationship to swallow.


	3. Chapter 3

The cliff appears without warning and sends them both skidding to a hard halt. Mikleo leans forward to inspect the drop and frowns. It’s not terrible—a steep slope rather than a straight drop, but it goes for a while, with enough bramble and jutting stones to make any attempt at descent questionable at best, dangerous at worst. And that’s assuming they can safely climb down the cliff face first, which they don’t have time for.

He turns to Alisha, who looks as grim as he probably does. Behind them, the sounds of thundering steps and snapping branches are rapidly getting closer. This isn’t an ideal place to stand their ground—too little room to maneuver—and it’s too late to double back.

As quickly as his mind is racing for a solution, Mikleo doesn’t notice Alisha stepping closer until she’s nearly on top of him. He does a double take when he notices her troubled expression.

She breathes in sharply, as if preparing herself. “Forgive me.”

He stares at her. “For wh—” His question turns into an unintelligible sound as Alisha leans over and actually _picks him up_ —fully, lifting him entirely off the ground with one arm behind his shoulders and the other under his knees. Her spear is strung across his side to keep him there.

In the instant it takes him to be offended and then embarrassed by the (unintentionally) belittling gesture, he feels her grip tighten as she whirls around and sprints for the cliffside. “Alisha—!” At the last second she turns sharply on her heel, but her momentum carries them further and over the edge.

She hits her back with a grunt and the two of them immediately barrel down the hillside, gaining enough speed to be considered unsafe. She keeps a tight hold on him, even curling herself around him to act as a shield, but he still feels every bump and can only imagine how much worse she has it, being on the bottom and taking all the force, but he can’t do much, if anything, without potentially—and dangerously—interfering with their momentum.

Suddenly they strike something particularly firm. He’s torn out of her hold and they’re immediately knocked away from each other, but fortunately he only has a few more yards to roll before coming to a stop on even ground. He does so in a pool of mud, but considering his lack of injuries, he can deal with that much.

“Alisha!” He fights dizziness and vertigo to climb to his feet, a difficult task when the surrounding trees are spinning slightly. Alisha’s white-and-pink clothing stick out, and he stumbles and stomps towards her as the wet ground tries to hold him in place. “Alisha—”

She’s lying among some large roots in a position that looks entirely uncomfortable. She’s covered in mud and grass, with a large bruise already forming on her forehead and a trickle of blood seeping down from her hairline. Her eyes are closed.

Mikleo reaches for her shoulder but freezes as another loud, long howl shakes the air. He looks up to see their pursuer—an enormous, four-legged hellion—bounding down the hill. It slips in places, but it’s making a clear beeline for the two of them. They don’t have long.

“Mikleo…” Alisha blinks up at him, dazed but concerned. “Are you—?”

“I’m fine. Can you move?”

“I…” She begins to push herself up, wincing, but nowhere near quickly enough. Mikleo looks back up the hill, gritting his teeth.

“Out of time,” he murmurs. He turns back to her. “Lie down.”

“What?”

 _“Lie down!”_ he repeats sharply. Without waiting for her compliance, he throws himself forward to help her do just that, his left hand summoning his staff even as he focuses mana into the medium.

The air around them shimmers and darkens. He feels Alisha tense underneath him, but she does as told and remains still, which is a good thing given the nature of the arte. Not a second too soon, the hellion slides to a halt at the bottom of the hill. Its breath heaving in loud grunts, it scans the area with teeth bared and yellow eyes wide and searching. The ground shakes as it moves forward.

Mikleo and Alisha remain absolutely motionless. Her face is close enough to his that he can tell she holds her breath every time the monster’s head swivels in their direction. One of her greaves is jabbing him in the ribs, making his own breathing difficult and uncomfortable, but he only grips his staff tighter and stays silent.

It’s obvious the hellion completely lost its visual on them, but the rapid movements of its snout are troubling. The Spectral Cloak only accounts for sight. Given its vaguely canine appearance, the hellion is probably more dependent on smell than other senses—which means, if Mikleo had to guess, that being covered in mud as the two of them are is probably what’s throwing it off for this long. They’re still and tense as the hellion continues to sniff around the area, its trek gradually bringing it closer to where they lie.

Mikleo notices Alisha’s spear lying in the mud a couple yards away. He isn’t sure what kind of condition she’s in with regards to fighting, but if he makes a dive for it, he could reach it in time to turn around and attack, buying her time to get back on her feet.

For the moment he stays where he is, watching the hellion gradually approach. When it hits five yards, Mikleo shifts quietly, turning to face it and putting Alisha behind him; when it comes within reach of his staff, he feels her sit up, and then watches her reach forward, around his sides, to grip his staff along with him. He glances over his shoulder and meets her steely gaze. She doesn’t look frightened, only determined. She looks pointedly in the direction of her spear, and then back at him. He nods.

It takes more concentration than usual to cast the arte without the incantation, but concentration is all he has right now. The hellion might have picked up on the shift of mana in the air, perking up attentively at the last second—but in the next a geyser of hot water slams into its face, knocking it backwards.

“Now!” Together they stand and twist to the side, Mikleo bearing the brunt of their combined weight to help Alisha up. She releases his staff at the end of the turn, throwing herself into a tumble and coming up again a heartbeat later, now with her weapon in hand.

The hellion recovers, but they’re already on the offensive and rushing toward it. It lunges forward, aiming for Mikleo, who’s closest—and who sidesteps at the last moment to slam a two-handed blow into its jaw. Its stagger is brief, but Mikleo sidesteps again, this time to allow Alisha room to rush by and slash her blade across the hellion’s eyes. It howls in pain, but Mikleo is already casting a second time: a pillar of water erupts from the ground, connecting squarely with the hellion’s chin and knocking it upwards, onto its back feet.

Mikleo glances at Alisha, certain she’ll take the opening for a finishing blow—and is startled to see her slouching where she stands, a pained look on her face. Her free hand clutches at her chest and she meets his gaze—even though he can’t hear her over the hellion’s distressed snarls as it flails, he can read her lips.

_My resonance—_

He doesn’t stop to wonder. He moves instinctively, dismissing his staff as he bolts towards her. “Alisha! Get ready!” She’s the one to look startled now, but she nods even as she adjusts her footing with a wince, drawing back her lance. He slides into place beside her and takes hold of her weapon’s shaft, focusing his mana into the blade, and it immediately erupts with the silver sheen of the Flames of Purification. “Together!”

Combining their strengths, they thrust the spear forward and up. He’s sure Alisha aims for the monster’s chest, but the delay in their timing puts the attack off-center: the blade pierces its throat instead. Black smoke gushes from the wound like steam as it cries out, a deep, gurgling roar that makes the two fighters cringe. The hellion twists away violently, the force wrenching the spear from Mikleo’s grip—but Alisha holds on in a surprising display of resilience and strength, staying fast on her feet long enough to rip the spear free.

The hellion’s roars weaken into growls, and then groans, and then fade completely as it continues to writhe, its movements quickly losing strength. Finally it collapses, the dark fog thickening tightly around it before abruptly dissipating. Left in its wake is the body of a large wolf, which quickly jumps back to its feet, shakes itself off, and takes off into the forest at a dazed, drunken canter.

Mikleo quickly rejoins Alisha. “Are you alright?”

She nods, smiling despite the blood and sweat smeared on her face, which is a lot paler than usual. “I’m…” Without any warning, she collapses on the spot.

“Alisha!” He quickly kneels beside her, but she’s out cold. A touch to her neck tells him her skin is hot and her pulse racing, but what catches his attention is the scarlet stain on the side of her tunic. He lifts the edge of her shirt and immediately hisses between his teeth. She’s been punctured from behind, just above her hip. Whatever it was didn’t go all the way through, but the wound looks wide and deep enough to present the threat of bleeding out if it isn’t dealt with quickly.

He rapidly casts several healing artes, but even once the bleeding stops, he can tell her skin is only just holding together. This injury is going to need some natural bedrest, as well, to heal completely.

That presents a problem: they’re an hour’s walk from Ladylake, and jostling her wound for that long seems like a terrible idea. Even if it wasn’t, giving every human in the town a heart attack by carrying her doesn’t seem like it would end well, either.

Mikleo makes his choice quickly: the top priority is getting her out of this muddy area to somewhere dry. It isn’t easy by himself, but he does his best to move slowly and gently in pulling her onto his back, and then threading her lance beneath her legs to hold her in place as he stands up. He leans forward as far as he dares to keep her from pitching backwards, and even with her armor she’s only a bit heavier than usual.

Luck is on their side: he senses no more malevolence as he goes, and no other threats present themselves. The walk is more taxing than he anticipated, as tired as he is, but that’s a good problem to have in comparison.

Around twenty minutes later he locates a safe-looking spot, a shadowed space beneath the twisted roots of a massive tree. Squeezing inside is a challenge while carrying another person, but he manages, and sets Alisha down on the soft, dry earth and quickly gets to work.

He’s careful in removing her armor and both of her wet shirts, and then equally so in running warm water over her injury to clear away the blood and dirt. He paces his healing artes, waiting a couple minutes between each one, and once the bruising in her fair skin has gone from a dark purple to a light yellow-green, Mikleo finally sits back to catch his breath.

For a moment he watches her, noting the tightness in her expression. It seems so out of place compared to the peace he’s used to seeing as she sleeps.

After a moment more he sees to himself, removing his coat and doing his best to rinse it clean, and then hanging it along with Alisha’s wet clothes over some of the branches outside to dry, making sure they’re in the sunlight. It’s still early in the day, but as he reclaims his seat beside her he has to fight the urge to sleep off his fatigue. He reminds himself that he doesn’t _need_ it, but two decades’ worth of human habits aren’t easy to break, and he ends up shifting his position often to make sure he doesn’t drift off. Even if the area seems safe now, he isn’t up for taking chances.

* * *

She finally stirs a little after noon. Mikleo returns from a short walk around the tree’s general perimeter—he needed to move and get some blood flowing—and finds Alisha sitting up, wincing as she reaches behind her and gingerly touches her injury.

“Careful,” he says as he joins her. “It’s closed now, but it went pretty deep. It’s probably bruised worse on the inside.”

She nods lightly. “What about you? Are you alright?”

“I’m fine.” He tries to help her shift into a more comfortable position, but sitting up straight seems to pain her. “You should lie back down,” he starts, but Alisha gives a thin-lipped smile.

“I’m alright. The ground isn’t any more comfortable, and at least this way I can keep awake.”

Mikleo frowns a bit, but he knows when her mind is set. After a moment’s deliberation, he offers instead, “Then, here—lean against me, at least. That should keep some of the pressure off.”

Trying to lean sideways against his shoulder only agitates her injury, so after some trial and error they find the best arrangement is her straddling his lap and leaning against his chest, her chin on his shoulder.

It’s a position they’ve been in before, but these are vastly different circumstances and Mikleo feels his face grow warm despite his best efforts. It isn’t the memories of _then_ as much as the implications of _now_ , her warmth and her weight and her proximity as comforting and intimate as ever. With only his undershirt and her thin bodice between them, it’s all the more obvious.

Regardless, his voice is level and casual as he asks, “Is this better?”

“Very much so. Thank you, Mikleo.”

He feels her arms thread loosely around his middle. He does the same, although his hands rest on his knees rather than her waist.

She seems lucid and determined enough to converse, so he figures some gentle reprimanding is in order. “You threw us off a cliff,” he says flatly.

Alisha hesitates. “...Yes.”

“You could’ve killed yourself, trying to carry me like that.”

“It was my idea,” she answers firmly. “I couldn’t risk your safety anymore than I already was, if the idea turned out to be a bad one.”

_‘If,’ she says._

Mikleo sighs quietly, but it’s more resigned than exasperated. She would have done the same for whoever she happened to be with at the time, he knows that. That’s how she is.

And that’s what worries him.

“...Thanks,” he tells her, “for the quick thinking. It wasn’t the best plan, but it worked.” He feels her chest vibrate lightly with her amused hum. Despite his tone and his words, she recognizes his earnest gratitude—and probably his concern, as well—for what it is.

“I would say we’re even after all that,” she reasons. “But next time I’ll try to warn you.”

That’s about as much as he can hope for.

“That was the earliest you’ve ever lost my power, wasn’t it?” he asks, thinking back to the end of the battle. 

“Mm.” Alisha shifts slightly and he can picture her troubled expression. “It’s usually off by only a few hours. Not two days.”

Two and a half days, Mikleo thinks, if he’s being technical. He makes a thoughtful sound. “Nothing felt off?”

“No. Everything seemed normal up to that point.”

He runs his thumb along the band of her shorts without realizing, the motion distracted. “It could be a random outlier. We kept to the same schedule, and didn’t do anything different, so...” He stops short. Thinking back to the specifics, things weren’t _quite_ the same, after all.

He opens his mouth, but then quickly closes it, trying to weigh the probability in his head first. Alisha picks up the train of thought.

“That does seem possible. Perhaps I simply overexerted myself too much,” she admits.

“Well—uh,” he stammers, “maybe, but… I don’t think that was the _most_ you’ve ever…”

She hums thoughtfully. “Honestly? That might have been my most intense engagement in some time.”

Mikleo shifts his weight slightly, flustered and trying not to recall too many details or pay too much attention to every place their bodies are touching. “Oh. If it was—I didn’t mean to…”

“No, it’s all on me,” she assures him. “You did everything right. I think I was… overeager, perhaps, to act.”

He isn’t sure what to say. “I, um… I wouldn’t… say that’s a bad thing…” Sure, they tried doing things a little differently and she encouraged him all the way through, but… Surely it couldn’t be attributed to something like the position of—

“Or perhaps my wound contributed somehow,” Alisha muses, “since my resonance dropped shortly after that. Maybe it’s related to blood loss?”

Oh.

_The battle._

She means the battle.

Of course.

He nearly rolls his eyes at himself, but she sits back right then. “At any rate, we should take care to—Mikleo? Are you well? Your face is red.”

“Fine,” he coughs quickly. “I’m fine.”

Alisha pauses, and then more color returns to her pale face as she blushes slightly, glancing aside. “I’m sorry, I didn’t even think—I just assumed this was alright, but if you’re uncomfortable…” She shifts in place, as if prepared to remove herself from his lap.

“No, it’s not—it’s not that,” he assures her, tone firm despite the way his eyes avoid hers. “I was just…” He scrabbles for a dismissive remark but it doesn’t come. In the end, he has to be honest. “I was thinking that… maybe this happened because… last time things were a little… different.” He forces himself to watch realization creep into her puzzled expression.

Alisha drops her chin and clears her throat softly. “A little,” she agrees shyly. Her hands begin to fidget where they rest on his shoulders, absently rubbing with the heels of her palms. He doesn’t think she even notices. “Well… um… I suppose that’s something to—to keep in mind, if…”

He nods, sparing her the awkward words if she so chooses. As comfortable as the two of them have started to become in the privacy of her room during these last couple of months, most of that confidence stops at the doorway.

Last time was, as he eloquently put it, definitely different. Bolder and almost aggressive, it had been something of a release after a long day of trading glances and accidental touches, hours of pretending they had forgotten where and why they would meet that night. He doesn’t know if her skin buzzed and her breath caught the way his did every time she looked at him, but he does remember how eagerly she pulled him to her the second the door closed behind them.

They didn’t even undress. Nothing more than the minimum needed to reach each other, anyway. Her kisses were hungry, her movements impatient, and his were much the same, their fervor and curiosity improvising in a few ways. He worried more than once about being too rough with her, despite knowing better than most that she’s anything but frail.

They were as exhausted afterwards as they would normally be after a second round. He stripped them both out of their sweat-soaked clothes as they lay there, unintentionally rekindling that heat inside her, but his hands were enough to appease her. He held her to him, curled around her and softening her pleased shivers as he touched and kissed her.

It’s strange to consider _that_ Alisha to be one and the same as this one—but the longer Mikleo watches her, the clearer it becomes that there’s no shame or regret in her expression. Self-consciousness and modesty, as expected, but there’s not a single shadow of doubt or dishonesty.

 _I suppose it’s something to keep in mind,_ she said. As if those circumstances might arise again.

“How’s your wound doing?” he asks, decidedly changing the subject.

A moment later she’s leaning against him again, allowing him to peer over her shoulder. The injury doesn’t look much different. Thanks to his artes, there’s not even a scab, but the skin is still red and bruised and slightly swollen. By the end of the day even rigorous movement will run little risk of tearing anything; she’ll be sore for as long as that patch of skin is still off-color, and then some, but it puts Mikleo’s mind at ease.

He tells her as much as his hand hovers over the area, soothing it with another arte. He feels her relax.

“Thank you,” she murmurs, and suddenly sounds tired. She shifts in place, tucking her head under his chin and her cheek against his chest.

Even after he’s done, Alisha stays where she is. Suspecting she’s drifted off already, he carefully strokes the unblemished skin around her injury, eyes scanning her back for anything smaller he might have missed before.

Her fingers tighten almost imperceptibly on his shoulders, and then after a moment she withdraws. Not much—just enough to turn to him, and still close enough for him to feel her warm breath on his cheek.

Even now, tired and pale, stained with mud and blood and sweat, her hair a loose, frazzled mess, she’s beautiful.

Alisha doesn’t look away, but she doesn’t say anything, either—and much like their first night together Mikleo suddenly feels unsure of himself. She surely isn’t expecting any kind of intimacy _now_ , right? Even if she’s better than before, he wouldn’t be comfortable agitating her wound in that way, no matter how gentle he could probably be. Neither should she be in any rush to boost her resonance again. She won’t be fighting anytime soon.

He glances down at her parted lips and feels her tense slightly. It’s enough of a reaction to make him think that she doesn’t want anything, after all—and yet here she is, half-dressed and in his arms, leaning close and looking over his face not unlike the way she’s done before: curious, comfortable, and thoughtful, as though debating her next action.

Maybe it’s nothing more than thoughtless temptation and she means nothing by it. Maybe Mikleo can save them from something awkward by breaking the silence and stopping whatever this is right now.

Maybe she wants to kiss him simply because she _wants_ to—no other reason, no ends to justify the means, just kissing him for the sake of him, much like how he so often wants to kiss her gently or take her hand in his just to do so, the pact and its cruel requirements be damned—

Whatever Alisha’s thoughts are on the matter, she acts first.

By suddenly turning her head away.

Her smile is small and apologetic. Or perhaps just embarrassed.

“Thank you for everything, Mikleo,” she says quietly. Despite having already thanked him just moments ago.

She moves back, stiffly, until they’re not touching anymore and retrieves her undershirt and tunic from where he’s folded them, still with that in-between smile in place. She doesn’t ask for his help in getting dressed.


	4. Chapter 4

The humid air is refreshing as Alisha emerges from the warm water with a sharp exhale. She sucks in the heavy atmosphere gladly, but quietly, wiping droplets from her nose and eyelashes.

The thick steam and near silence of the sauna wrap around her like a comfortable blanket, easing the last of the tension from her shoulders. For a moment she lingers with her face in her hands, listening to the gentle trickle of the stream at the far end and the chirp of early evening crickets on the other side of the wall. For once she’s able to clear her thoughts and let her mind linger on peaceful nothing.

“Oh, good, you didn’t drown.”

She nearly shrieks at the sudden voice beside her. The noise catches in her throat but she still jerks away, hands slipping on the smooth stones and her head dipping just low enough to get a mouthful of water.

She coughs and spits it out in a very unladylike manner, bright eyes flashing irritably at the figure who’s crouched at the edge of the pool and rocking back on her heels with laughter. _“Rose!”_

The Shepherd flashes a cheeky grin as she climbs to her feet. “You had me worried for a sec. A mysterious invitation to the nobles’ private sauna was weird enough, but then I walk in and see a body under the water? Thought you might have set me up for something.”

Finished with her sputtering, Alisha watches her glide by. She wasn’t under for more than a couple seconds—how did Rose get so close without her noticing? “You’ve a rather macabre way of thinking, if that was truly your first assumption.”

Rose doesn’t answer, but stares down into the steaming water a few feet to Alisha’s left. Without warning she drops her towel and steps in, the movement so abrupt and bold that Alisha averts her eyes on reflex.

“Oh, this is nice!” Rose sinks down to the tops of her shoulders, soaking in the warmth for a short pause before straightening up again. “Nice and quiet, no lines or crowds…” She looks at Alisha, one eyebrow cocked. “...Definitely a good place for a set-up.”

With a weary smile Alisha leans back against the wall of the pool, gathering her wet hair to pin it up out of her eyes. “It’s nice to see you, too.”

It hasn’t been that long, but most of their meetings are brief and purely business. This seemed as good a place as any to meet, if only to make sure Rose would stay a while and actually relax. The rest of the time she always seems to be on the move, traveling and battling and shouldering who knows how many responsibilities.

Not that Alisha has much room to talk.

“This probably seems rather sudden,” Alisha guesses.

“Mm, a bit, yeah.” Rose glances around the perimeter of the hot spring. “And since it looks like you only invited me, I’m guessing you want something.” She doesn’t sound put out, but Alisha instantly looks apologetic all the same.

“Just to talk. But I’ve reserved the place for a few more hours, so you can stay after we’re done, if you like.”

“A talk, huh?” There’s something teasing in Rose’s sidelong glance, but she just makes herself comfortable without further comment.

“Yes. I’d like an opinion on something… and I trust you to be completely honest with me.”

Rose watches her with a neutral look, her mouth an unreadable line.

Alisha inhales deeply as she pulls her legs closer to her chest. “This… pact, between Mikleo and myself. Am I selfish for resorting to it?”

For a long moment Rose doesn’t answer. That vague expression doesn’t budge as her eyes sweep slowly over the sauna, probably in thought. Alisha waits patiently, breath held.

“I don’t think that’s a simple yes-or-no question,” Rose says at last. “From Sorey’s point of view, you’re throwing everything you have into helping him. You’re being as selfless as ever.”

“What about from Mikleo’s point of view?” Alisha asks quietly.

Rose sets her elbow on the edge of the pool, leaning her head against her fist. Her face is still carefully controlled. “That’s not simple, either. On one hand you’re helping someone important to him. You’re giving him the chance to help, too, which I’m sure he appreciates. On the other…” Her gaze returns to Alisha’s face and the princess already knows her next words will sting. “You’ve backed him into a corner. ‘Keep sleeping with me, or we aren’t doing everything we can to protect Sorey and the world he left behind.’ ‘Keep sleeping with me, or turn me down and risk hurting my feelings.’”

Alisha quickly opens her mouth to object, only to momentarily shut it again. The former situation is what she’s been afraid of; the latter never even occurred to her. Despite appearances, Mikleo is much more considerate than he lets on. He promised her that he wouldn’t partake in anything he wasn’t willing to do, but… would he ever be the one to quit if he thought it might upset her?

“...So I have only been thinking of myself,” she murmurs.

Suddenly Rose sends a splash of water in her direction, looking annoyed. “Are you even listening? I said it’s more complicated than that.”

“But I—”

“Some would say Mikleo’s the one in the wrong, for taking advantage of you when you were desperate.”

Alisha’s face grows hot. “He didn’t! He tried to talk me out of it—”

“Or Sorey, for leaving such big expectations on all of us.”

“That’s…” Alisha quiets. She sees where Rose is headed with this.

“Or me, for not fixing this problem before it got to that point,” Rose goes on with a shrug. “None of this is black and white. This Shepherd business is as messy and unfair as it always is. Choices are made. People are hurt. The important thing is that you make sure any pain you cause is worth it in the end—to everyone involved. And if you can’t do that, at least make sure you won’t regret taking that road in the first place.”

Silence falls as Alisha takes that in, thinking.

_Stand by your answer_ , in essence.

“I decided at the start that any price was worth it,” she says softly. “That I would commit wholeheartedly to whatever I set my mind to.” She breathes in deep, lets it out slowly. “And I think… Mikleo will do anything—pay anything—if it means making sure he’ll see Sorey again.”

She feels a dark sting of jealousy as she says it. Mikleo will see him again one day. She never will.

“But,” she goes on, eyes fixed on her knees, “that doesn’t mean I can take him for granted.”

“This sounds a lot like something you should be saying to him, not me,” Rose points out, not unkindly.

“I know. I have—I did, the day we agreed to this pact. I made it plain to him that he didn’t have to do anything he wasn’t comfortable with… and yet…” Alisha has thought about that night a lot in particular. She remembers his uncharacteristically conflicted expression, how quick he was to relent in his argument when she almost walked out. He seems fine now, but she wonders if she put him on the spot too suddenly back then.

“And yet I’m not sure he would put himself first in this situation, if pushed,” she finishes with a frown.

Rose heaves a helpless sigh. “Well, you’re not wrong. I still say you two have your stubbornness in common.” She rubs her arm thoughtfully. “But give him some credit, Alisha. This isn’t the first tough choice he’s made. I wouldn’t be surprised if he’s…” She seems to choose her words carefully. “...If he’s not totally honest with you, but that’s how it goes. I’m gonna guess you still have some reservations, too, despite what you say.”

Alisha’s frown deepens, but she remains silent. 

“And anyway, I’m sure you didn’t twist his arm until he agreed,” Rose goes on. “As long as you were fair about the stakes, you shouldn’t beat yourself up about it too much.”

“Yes, I did make certain of that. I assured him that it was alright if he refused.” Alisha flushes lightly. “I—still had Zaveid, so… Mikleo was aware he wasn’t my only option.”

When Rose doesn’t answer, Alisha looks up—and is surprised by the incredulously skeptical look on her face.

“Your ultimatum was _Zaveid?_ ” She glances aside with a short, toneless laugh. “Damn. No wonder.”

“What?”

Rose hesitates, but then ignores her confusion entirely. “You’re right about one thing: you shouldn’t take all this for granted. I really doubt you are if you’re this worked up about it, but…” She appears to rethink her word choice again. “Just make sure you’re as honest with him as you are with yourself, I’d say.”

Alisha considers that, and then nods. “Yes, I think honesty is important in this arrangement. I’m concerned that he may not always speak up when he should, but…” She leans her head back to stare up at the dark sky, still a few shades shy of night. “I think you’re right—he’s glad... to be helping Sorey in some way.” Her next exhale comes out heavier than she means for it to. “Even though he… rarely ever talks about him,” she adds quietly, barely audible.

If Rose catches that, she doesn’t comment. Alisha straightens up again, brushing her bangs from her eyes. “But ultimately, our goal is the same. I trust his intentions, as he trusts mine, so... perhaps I’m overthinking things.”

Rose is staring down at the water now, lips slightly twisted as she watches her finger flick at the surface. “You’re sounding more and more like a politician every day,” she remarks. “ ‘Arrangement,’ ‘intentions’...” Her hand drops with a splash and a dry chuckle. “It’s kinda funny. I never would have pegged you as the casual sex type.”

That catches Alisha off-guard, as does the look Rose suddenly levels at her. “Wh-What?”

“You really _don’t_ have any feelings for him, do you? It’s all professional to you.”

Alisha stares, taken aback by how accusatory that sounds despite Rose’s mild tone. “Of—Of course it is,” she stammers, confused and defensive. “I would never— This isn’t how I would go about—courting someone if I—”

Rose rolls her eyes, hard. “I don’t mean it like that. I just thought someone like you wouldn’t be able to separate her emotions and her actions like this—not these actions, anyway. To be honest, I thought you might have called me here to help you sort out some messy feelings or whatever.”

Put that way, Alisha isn’t sure if she should be offended or not. “Well,” she says slowly, tersely, “I _have_ kept them separate. Even if I did think of him in that way, I’ve asked enough of Mikleo already without… complicating matters.”

Rose grunts softly. “Is that all it is?” Her tone says she already knows the answer. Even so, Alisha doesn’t look at her.

“Yes.”

Another grunt, this one skeptical and closer to a scoff, but Rose doesn’t comment.

Alisha stares down at the surface of the water, silent. This is something she’s considered before—how could she not?—but it’s the first time she’s daring to really address it, rather than smothering the thought with a hasty excuse.

She enjoys the intimate time spent with Mikleo. She doesn’t deny that.

She likes being held by him. She likes waking up first and seeing him so relaxed and vulnerable. She likes hearing him talk, especially when she rests her head on his chest. She likes those unnecessary touches, soft and simple and not asking for anything. She likes the way he surprises her sometimes, helping button up her bodice without prompting or gathering her hair from her shoulders while she gets dressed.

And she does, of course, enjoy the sex. Perhaps a little too much, sometimes.

She likes all of it. It’s business, but they aren’t afraid to draw as much pleasure out of it as they can. It’s a situation built solidly on trust, and in some ways it’s brought them closer as friends.

In that regard, there’s nothing she would change—and in that regard, no one would probably blame her if she found herself falling in love with him.

Alisha sighs silently, shifting her knees a bit and watching the water ripple.

She knows what infatuation feels like. She knows what it is for her heart to skip a beat at a smile, to feel utterly content and complete in the company of that person, to dare to dream of a life wherein he feels the same. Even if it was brief, she felt the warm touch of love before—as well as its cold, stinging absence when heartbreak took its place.

Maybe that’s why she doesn’t feel any of those things towards Mikleo, despite the obvious opportunity: a part of her still aches and perhaps always will, a part that’s closed itself off in the last few years and isn’t ready to move on just yet. The thought of leaving that first love behind completely makes her uneasy, like she’s betraying those old feelings in a way—and the fact that it’s Mikleo in question makes the sense of betrayal all the more personal.

There’s no question in her mind that she loves Mikleo, but it isn’t _like that._

Even if she knows his body better than her own at this point, and has given herself to him more than once in desire over necessity, and sometimes finds herself admiring him outside of her chambers in a way that makes her blood run hotter—it’s attraction, but it isn’t love.

They’re nowhere near the same.

He deserves better than a messy misconception, anyway. He’s already going out of his way to help her, and so often, too. What sort of gratitude would it be to drag their emotions into this as well? No, it wouldn’t even be that—her affection would surely be a superficial one, a blend of thoughtless passion and lingering, misplaced heartache.

No, he’s worth so much more than her broken, confused feelings. He deserves to be _first_ , not her alternative.

Neither is Alisha so full of herself as to assume a seraph would ever have romantic feelings for a human, least of all a human who’s already asked so much of him.

After a long, silent minute, she finally speaks up.

“I have my reasons, even if they may only be excuses. But no, I’m not—I don’t think of him that way. And I think that’s for the best.”

Rose makes a face that’s difficult to decipher. “Is it?”

“Of course it is. We couldn’t—” She stops that train of thought before it can start. “And anyway, I’m certain he doesn’t feel anything towards me, either.”

“You are, huh.”

Alisha’s eyes narrow slightly. The way Rose keeps answering in questions is irksome. “I am. He treats me the same as he always has.”

“Outside of the sex.”

“Yes, outside of the—” Now Alisha glares. It’s hard to tell when Rose is trying to be helpful and when she’s just trying to annoy her. “What are you implying?”

“Nothing.” Rose shrugs again. “You seem to have this whole thing figured out and wrapped up all nice and pretty. Just thought I’d remind you that men have feelings, too.”

“I know that,” Alisha snaps, but even as she says it, she suddenly doubts herself. “...Why? Has he said something to you?”

The sharp rise of Rose’s eyebrow says enough. “Yeah, right. Even if he was the type to talk about his feelings, he wouldn’t come to me.” She stretches her arms over her head with a tired groan. “I’m not saying anything one way or the other, Princess. Just that you get tunnel vision sometimes.”

“Perhaps,” Alisha admits. “I’ll take care, then, to pay more attention. But… as I said, Mikleo is doing this for the same reasons I am.”

Rose has returned to that unreadable expression of hers, which is even more frustrating. Alisha almost blurts _If you have something to say, then say it,_ but she knows better. If Rose doesn’t speak her mind with _out_ prompting, she surely won’t do so _with_ it.

Of course Mikleo treats her differently when they’re—together. It would be odd if he didn’t. Wouldn’t it?

Alisha thinks back. There’s been nothing to say he feels any differently about her. She hasn’t missed his glances and the way her touch makes him freeze up sometimes, but it goes both ways. She may keep her emotions and her actions separate, but she can’t isolate the reality of their intimacy. Sometimes she wants him more than once a week; sometimes she wonders how he would respond if she made it known. They’re always passing thoughts, quickly dismissed in shame and embarrassment, but they exist.

Maybe Mikleo has those same thoughts. Maybe he doesn’t. Either way, they’re simply impulses, nothing more.

No, Alisha decides, more than likely Rose is just being Rose, giving her a hard time in some roundabout helpful way: _Don’t be a spoiled princess—Mikleo is your friend, not a servant at your disposal. Be careful not to give him the wrong idea_. Something like that. Maybe she’s said something similar to Mikleo, even.

After a minute Alisha reaches for her towel as she stands. She’s feeling better after this talk, but her thoughts are buzzing too loudly to relax any longer.

“Ouch,” Rose observes. “What happened there?”

Alisha doesn’t have to ask to know what she’s looking at. “A small injury. It’s fine now.” As she fastens the towel around her, she glances over uncertainly. “Does it still look bad?”

“Just a big bruise. No worries, your pretty skin will be flawless again in no time. Which I’m sure Mikleo will appreciate.”

And here Alisha thought she would get through this without any of _that_ sort of teasing. She clears her throat, fighting the embarrassment in her face. “I can hope.”

A second later she shoots Rose an embarrassed look. “I’m referring to it healing!” she says quickly. “For—For my sake. It’s still sore, so…” She tries to ignore Rose’s smirk.

She and Mikleo even skipped their night together this week, mostly upon his insistence that she heal up as much as she’s able. The malevolence level has been manageable since dispatching that large hellion, so she didn’t argue with him.

It’s just as well, she figures. After nearly kissing him that day beneath the tree—another selfish impulse—perhaps she needs a break from their intimacy, to get her head on straight and make sure she can enforce what she believes. 

“By the way,” Rose asks, “why me?”

Alisha catches her meaning. She pretends to fumble with securing her towel, keeping her gaze down. “What do you mean, ‘why?’ I told you, you’re honest, so—”

“Bull. Edna’s way more blunt than I am. And Lailah sugarcoats a little, but she doesn’t lie.”

To Alisha’s annoyance, she instantly feels her cheeks grow warm again, but it’s a different kind of embarrassment. “Because…” She fidgets. Her lips twist. Being honest with Sorey and Mikleo has always been rather easy. In contrast, Rose always seems to tap into Alisha’s small reserve of pride, and in the coarsest way possible. “Because I needed to talk these things out, that’s all. And I do appreciate you lending an ear.”

In the corner of her eye Rose perches her chin in her hand, elbow on her knee, the casual opposite that Alisha could never be. “I wouldn’t think you’d want to give me such a big opportunity to tease you.”

Alisha straightens her shoulders as she looks over, her expression steady. “Well, I have, and you’ve been rather tame thus far.”

Rose chuckles through her cheeky grin. “You’re giving me too much credit. I’ll pull this conversation out again when you least expect it.”

At that, Alisha finds herself smiling a bit dryly. “I wouldn’t expect anything less.”

After all, that’s just the kind of thing a friend would do, isn’t it?

* * *

Mikleo returns to the inn around noon. It’s been another slow day in a slow week, but that’s a good thing: everyone’s getting a much needed break and there’s been no new hearsay about hellions. The air in Ladylake is actually clearer than usual, or maybe it simply seems that way after the depths of malevolence he’s been exposed to.

Alisha’s also doing well. He paid a short visit in the morning to check on her, giving what’s sure to be one of the last healing sessions for her back. She’ll keep a small scar as a memento of that close call, but she’s otherwise recovered and back to her usual level of activity.

Neither of them brought up the matter of renewing their pact. Mikleo didn’t want to seem pushy; Alisha either felt the same, forgot (unlikely), or assumed their usual schedule would resume.

For now, he decides that he isn’t going to stress it. There’s no immediate need, and he figures the break is a good thing, even if it’s not necessarily wanted.

As he makes his way towards the room Rose has rented, he tries not to wonder how Alisha feels—whether she’s felt a tug of impatience to be with him again, or doesn’t care either way. That near-kiss a couple weeks ago makes him suspect the former; the ease with which she pulled away points to the latter.

He realizes he’s been standing in front of the bedroom door for at least a minute, staring blankly at it while lost in thought.

Mikleo shoves his speculation away—for now—with a sharp sigh and reaches for the doorknob.

Strong hands suddenly clamp down on his shoulders and he nearly shouts.

“Mickey, my boy!”

His surprise melts—flares, rather—into annoyance and his lip curls as he’s roughly spun around. Zaveid grins down at him from his offensive height, forcing Mikleo to lean his head back to—reluctantly—look at him proper. For a such a loud-mouthed oaf, he somehow managed to sneak up without a sound. Or perhaps Mikleo was just that caught up in his thoughts.

“But I guess I can’t call you _that_ anymore,” the older seraph muses, with a sly look in his eye that Mikleo instantly hates. “You’ve definitely earned the right to call yourself a man these days, eh?”

As sharply tempting as it is to try and wrench free, there’s an intentional strength in Zaveid’s grip that Mikleo can’t hope to compete with. He narrowly chooses to salvage what little he can of his dignity and remains still, for now, although his flat expression and flatter tone say enough.

“Can I help you?”

Much to his annoyance, Zaveid gives him a hard tug and suddenly one broad arm is across Mikleo’s shoulders, pinning him to Zaveid’s side as they begin walking up the hall.

“Nope!” Zaveid replies cheerfully. “But I’ll do you one better: I think _I_ can help _you_.”

“I’ll pass.”

“Hey, now, hear your buddy out first! I don’t offer this kind of help to just anyone, y’know.”

_“Lucky me.”_ Mikleo has half a mind to throw some cold water in Zaveid’s face and make his escape, but he reluctantly acknowledges that he probably needs to get this over with at _some_ point. For weeks he’s been avoiding the wind seraph to the best of his ability, and when he can’t dodge him entirely he at least makes sure they’re within earshot of the rest of the group, where Zaveid is much less brash in his word choice thanks to Lailah’s withering looks and Edna’s threats of physical harm.

_Now_ , anything probably goes.

All too soon they’re outside and strolling along Ladylake’s main road, sticking to the side to avoid the human traffic. Mikleo glances around for any familiar faces who might save him from this impending disaster, but has no such luck.

“Before you say anything,” Zaveid drawls, “I want you to know—and I’m only gonna say this once—I’m actually kind of proud of you, kid. Can’t have been easy for ya, steppin’ up for little Alisha like you did.”

As much as Mikleo inwardly recoils at the mention of Alisha—he does _not_ want to _talk about this_ —he doesn’t miss the surprising note of something-like-sincerity in Zaveid’s tone, which he’s come to recognize as separate from his flippantly-fake-sincerity. He glances up, but Zaveid’s looking the other way.

“I mean, sure, it would’ve been a breeze for _me,_ but— _heh_ —it’s all too easy to imagine how uptight you must’ve been when you volunteered, am I right?”

His grip tightens briefly as his smirk widens but Mikleo ignores him, literally biting his tongue to hold back his first thought: _Actually, it was pretty easy. It would’ve been a lot harder to let her disgrace herself by choosing you._

Instead, he replies stiffly, “For the last time, I’m _not_ telling you anything.”

Zaveid grunts. “What a spoilsport. Don’t you know this kind of thing is how us guys really bond? What better way to prove a friendship than by sharing your most secret, important details?”

“ ‘Important,’ ” Mikleo echoes sarcastically. “Right.”

“Sure! I get to keep tabs on what the young people are into these days, and you get some friendly, free advice—”

That provokes a rather undignified snort, and Mikleo’s too annoyed to even feel self-conscious about the ugly sound. “You are literally the _last_ person I would ask,” he says, pronouncing each word slowly and succinctly in emphasis. “I’m _not_ talking about it.”

“ _It_ , huh.” Zaveid’s toothy grin manages to grind on every single one of Mikleo’s last nerves. “ ‘Fraid you’ll have to be more specific! ‘It,’ what? Alisha? Her resonance? Or,” he pushes when Mikleo continues to ignore him, “maybe those pretty little bruises she left? How’re those doin’?”

The heat in Mikleo’s face flares before he realizes it. It was too much to hope that Zaveid forgot about that—over a month ago, when Rose and the seraphim stopped at an inn for the night and Mikleo removed his overcoat without thinking, prompting Zaveid to observe, _loudly_ and to the room at large, the dark spots on his neck and the top of his shoulder. Since then Mikleo’s taken to healing any such marks—only once he’s away from Alisha—despite having intentionally left them before.

That embarrassment wears down the last of what little patience he has left. He tears himself out from under Zaveid’s arm, and to his surprise it’s not even a struggle. Zaveid lets him go, but still with that smarmy expression that’s probably the worst of the faces he makes.

“Welp,” Zaveid shrugs, “your call. If you’re comfortable doin’ what you’re doin’, who am I to butt in?” He leans back against the stone wall that overlooks the aqueduct, arms crossed over his chest. “But it’s pretty obvious you ain’t gettin’ _too_ comfortable.”

Despite his better judgment, Mikleo doesn’t walk away then and there. “What’s _that_ supposed to mean?”

“It means you’re playin’ a dangerous game, keepin’ so many secrets.”

Mikleo’s eyes narrow. “I don’t know what you’re—”

Zaveid makes an obnoxious, impatient noise to cut him off. “Yeah, yeah. Sure you don’t. Listen, I don’t deny I throw around my fair share of B.S.—”

_—And then some,_ Mikleo silently quips.

“—but, man’s honor, I’m bein’ serious here.” He holds Mikleo’s gaze for a couple beats as if to stress his point, his devil-may-care smile flattened to a rare line. “You wanna lie to your friends and your girl? Fine, it’s your choice to walk that messy road. But there’s a fine line between that and lying to yourself.”

“I know what I’m doing,” Mikleo snaps, but there isn’t much heat in it. He’s not sure which angle Zaveid is trying to work at, but his clumsy intention is obvious. For all his admitted B.S., as he so eloquently put it, Mikleo does count him among his friends—and he doesn’t dismiss a friend’s concern lightly.

Even so, this is nothing he hasn’t discussed with himself before. He doesn’t need to hear the risks spoken out loud to be any more aware of them.

“I knew what my decision meant when I made it,” he says more calmly, although still tersely. “Nothing’s changed.” He glances at Zaveid again. “I don’t need anyone worrying about me.”

He doesn’t wait for a response before turning back towards the inn.

Unperturbed, Zaveid calls after him.

“Trust me on this, Mick: one of the worst things a man can do is get cozy with a lady when he’s as head-over-heels in love with her as you are.”

Mikleo freezes.

“That is—” Zaveid adds, with a tone that’s the audible equivalent of a shrug, “—assuming he ain’t plannin’ to tell her.”

There’s a pronounced pause as Mikleo struggles between denying it—probably too late for that—and continuing to walk away. Zaveid breaks the silence with a rough laugh.

“What, you think all of us don’t know by now? Hell, Alisha’s the only one who doesn’t. _Ironically_ ,” he adds suggestively. “Poor girl’s not too bright when it comes t—”

_“I didn’t ask what you think,”_ Mikleo snarls, whirling back around. Zaveid’s smirk doesn’t falter in the slightest against his rising hackles.

“What, is it gonna kill you to admit the obvious? Damn, kid, I knew you had the hots for her long before you got tangled up in this mess. Denying it at this point’s just a joke.”

Mikleo isn’t even embarrassed. He’s frustrated, his pride offended by this skirt-chasing buffoon having actually outwitted him like this—cornering him, confronting him, all but wresting a confession out of him through his silence.

Zaveid cocks an eyebrow. “You can glare at me all day if you want, but that doesn’t change anything. You’re still a sad man in a sad place, and we both know it.”

“Do you have some kind of point to make?” Mikleo demands tightly. “Or are you just here to brag?” He expects Zaveid to give one of his barking laughs in mockery, but the other seraph just makes a mildly amused _hmph._

“Well, duh I have a point. If I just wanted to embarrass you, that’d be more fun in front of the others, wouldn’t it? Nah—” He pushes himself off the wall and approaches, but this time he doesn’t immediately hone in on Mikleo’s personal space. He takes a few steps to his right, thumbs hooked in the band of his pants and sharp eyes downcast in thought. “Consider this some… exclusive friendly advice. From one man to another.”

Mikleo dares to relax, just slightly. He can count on one hand the number of times he’s seen Zaveid this serious—no sarcasm, no hint of a grin betraying an upcoming punchline. Whatever he’s about to say, it’s genuine.

“For a kid like you, the idea of tellin’ her the truth is probably terrifying. Your situation might even seem like a nice alternative—you get to show her how you _really_ feel, no holdin’ back, and at the end of the day she’s none the wiser. Prob’ly feels safe.”

Mikleo looks away, out over the water. Try as he might to conjure his previous anger, to hide any hint of recognition on his face, it doesn’t come. Zaveid’s words hit too close to home and he feels shaken, uneasy.

“That’s good enough for some guys,” Zaveid goes on with a shrug. “But not the good ones. And if there’s one thing I can say with confidence about you, Mick, it’s that you’re a good guy.” Mikleo can feel the weight of his gaze. “You’re also a smart guy, so I don’t have to point out what she is. Those are some high odds you’re dealin’ against.”

“What—” The flippant sarcasm Mikleo aims for falls flat. He doesn’t like how tense he sounds. “You’re going to tell me that even _you_ were never dumb enough to get involved with a human?”

Zaveid chuckles again, low and deep, but it sounds off. “C’mon, you know me better than that. But I never messed around with royalty, no.” Mikleo’s gaze quickly lowers. Zaveid suddenly rolls his shoulders with a loud sigh. “This is gettin’ too preachy. I’m not tryin’ to hold your hand. I’m just sayin’ you need to remember that time ain’t ever on our kind’s side.”

Mikleo flinches. He hopes Zaveid doesn’t notice, but it’s hard to tell.

“Your life, Mick. Keep makin’ all the wild, passionate love to her that you want—I don’t blame you—but try not to forget about that fine line.” Zaveid pushes the brim of his hat up as he studies his young friend. His searching expression doesn’t match his easy tone. “The longer you sit there in denial, the more likely she’ll be the one to call it off in the end. That’s bound to be a crappy scenario no matter how you slice it.”

For a long moment Mikleo studies him. Then he snorts softly. “I can’t tell if you’re warning me or encouraging me.” He’s glad his voice comes out more dismissive than he feels.

“Bit of both. I’d say you’re better off movin’ on, but—” Another shrug. “Whatever you do, just don't half-ass it.”

Again Mikleo says nothing, his face neutral as he thinks all this over. Zaveid might be a bother and an idiot, but most of his morals are in the right place. At the very least, Mikleo will keep his words in mind.

“ _Now_ , enough of all this downer talk.” Suddenly Zaveid throws an arm around his shoulders again, yanking him forward and leaning down closer to his height. “There’s somethin’ I’ve been wonderin’ about—been wrackin’ my brain over it for a while, and I still can’t figure it out.” He lowers his voice conspiratorially. He wears a rare look of thoughtful concentration, and Mikleo’s curiosity is cautiously piqued. “But you’re the guy to ask, _so,_ be a pal and help me out here.”

For an instant Mikleo dares to think this might be a normal question, something he can honestly answer in return for this odd bit of respect and concern that Zaveid has shown him.

And then the older seraph looks him in the eye and asks, straightfaced and serious,

“So, _generally_ speaking… you top or bottom?”

Among the street full of humans, only a few notice the blast of water and hear the splash of something heavy landing in the aqueduct—both of which they write off as a natural cause and forget about almost immediately.

* * *

It’s late when Mikleo arrives at the manor, well past sundown but still earlier than usual. It’s an unplanned visit, so he isn’t even sure if Alisha will be home, or still awake—but as fate would have it, he sees her step out onto her terrace just as he passes through the gate.

He’s used to the way his heart skips at the sight of her now. A duality of impulses seizes him—the desire to close the distance between them, the unease that thinks it’s safer to put more—but she notices him and smiles, a warm and pleased look, and he isn’t going anywhere.

Minutes later they’re in her room, seated on the bed as she holds her shirt up to her ribs and he suspends a hand over her lower back. “This should do it,” he tells her as his arte fades. “Let me know if it gets sore again, but I think you’ll be fine after tonight.”

“Thank you.” Alisha smooths her shirt back down into place and turns to face him. Her smile and her posture are relaxed as she pulls her legs up to hug her knees. “You really didn’t have to make these house calls,” she says with a teasing look. “But I do appreciate your time, truly.”

He could point out that he’s making up for not protecting her from that injury in the first place, but she would take that too seriously. Instead he says, “It’s no trouble. Even if it’s minor, it’s good practice, too. My artes still have a long way to go.”

“Well, I think they’re amazing as they are. I’m sure you’ll be able to heal anything, one day.”

Mikleo laughs, brief but genuine. It’s a rare sound these days, and judging by the pleased look on her face, she knows it, too. “Maybe,” he humors her. She chuckles and tilts her head, an endearing gesture that makes his attention linger on her longer than he intends. For a moment she doesn’t look away, either.

“But, uh—” He finally glances aside. “I also—wanted to tell you that I’ll be out of town for a few days. I want to check in on Elysia while everything’s still calm.”

She looks thoughtful. “You’re going alone?”

He nods. “It’ll be the furthest I’ve been from Rose, so I don’t know how well the connection will hold. But even if the pact breaks, I’ll be fine. It’s a good test of our limits either way.” It also means there’s no reason to renew his pact with Alisha just yet: she would lose the benefits of his domain once he’s out of range.

“I see.” There’s a glimmer of concern in her eyes, but she doesn’t question his decision. “You’re probably overdue for a trip home, aren’t you?”

“More or less.” He gives the slightest of shrugs. It’s another duality: being home where he belongs, but somewhat dreading all the memories it holds. “You know you’re always welcome there, whenever you have time. I think everyone would like to meet you this time around.”

Alisha glows. “I’d like that, as well. Someday soon, I hope.”

Mikleo considers taking his leave then and there, not wanting to overstay his unannounced welcome, but she quietly clears her throat.

“Mikleo—there’s something I would like to say, as well.” Her mouth starts to frown. As much as she’s been thinking on this, she still isn’t sure how best to put it. “About the other—no… not just then.” She straightens her shoulders. “I want to be comfortable with you. And I am. I’m glad that these… circumstances haven’t changed things between us. Not for the worse, at least. Even so—”

Now she does frown. “My point is that… I apologize for being careless. That day when I was injured… I shouldn’t have—come off the way I did. I just assumed you would be comfortable with that sort of intimacy anywhere—and what’s more, I nearly kissed you without reason. That was selfish of me.”

The shift in Mikleo’s expectant expression is subtle, a glimpse of mild surprise. Alisha fidgets, tugging at her fingers.

“So,” she goes on slowly, “I’m sorry if I’ve been… unprofessional, in that regard.”

He blinks, looking puzzled, and then glances down and away. His face is difficult to read.

“It’s fine,” he replies after a long moment. “I didn’t take it that way—you being selfish.” He pauses for a couple heartbeats. “But... I don’t expect you to be ‘professional.’ This… situation—it’s not business. At least, not in that sense.”

His tone is gentle, patient, but firm. The look in his eyes matches it. “We’re helping our friends. It’s as personal for us as it gets. I think—” His solidarity stumbles as he looks away again, color glowing high in his cheeks. “If the lines get blurred sometimes, that’s not your fault.”

Alisha turns that over for a few seconds. “...You’re right. It’s duty, but it isn’t some sort of—business transaction. All the same... I don’t want to take you for gran—”

He reaches up and touches her face, his finger settling gently on her lips.

It’s a featherlight touch—his thumb barely grazes her skin, his palm only brushes her cheek—but it’s so unexpected that she stops talking all the same.

Mikleo also looks surprised by his own gesture, but his hand is steady.

“You aren’t,” he tells her simply, softly. “I know you’re far too reckless and considerate to ever put yourself before me, anyway.” There’s a hint of a wry, weary smile there—an easygoing, fond sort of humor, and it takes Alisha a moment to realize she’s seen something like it before: not towards herself, but Sorey.

She considers it a compliment in its own way.

“This… isn’t the inconvenience for me that you seem to think it is,” he continues, glancing over her face. “If being selfish just means thinking of ourselves now and again… I think it’s… alright if we’re a little selfish every once in a while. I don’t mind.”

He says _we_ , but Alisha instinctively knows he means _you_.

She stares at him. It takes her a few seconds to remember to breathe.

This time she’s the one to look away, but she chuckles against his skin.

“Reckless and considerate,” she echoes with a humored quirk of her lips. Thinking of the look he gave her a moment ago, his leniency suddenly makes a bit more sense in her mind. “You have a talent for making bluntness sound like a compliment.”

She expects that bit of teasing to get a response out of him, so she’s surprised when his thoughtful expression doesn’t budge.

She isn’t sure when his hand settled fully against her cheek. It’s as cool and comforting as it always is.

“Probably because that’s what I...” Mikleo stops. He blinks, seeming to hold his breath. Alisha waits.

“You what?” she wonders quietly.

Her voice breaks his daze. His hand and his gaze fall away, along with whatever that boost of confidence was just now. “...What I’ve come to expect from you,” he finishes.

She smiles. “I do suppose I’m rather predictable.” She takes his hand between both of hers. He looks at her again, but her eyes watch her fingertips trace lines over his knuckles. “If there’s one thing I appreciate the most about our arrangement,” she murmurs pensively, “it’s that I’ve come to know you better. I think we’re more honest with each other than we’ve ever been.” She thinks she feels him twitch, but it’s so light that she probably imagines it. “I’m glad—and humbled—that we can speak so amicably like this. I could ask for no better friend.”

She lifts her head and once again Mikleo’s face is a hard read. “Your reassurance means much to me, as well,” she tells him. Her eyes go back to their hands. “But,” she says quietly, more seriously, “I’m... already sleeping with you, Mikleo. Taking even more than that from you… I fear it really would be taking you for granted, considering… we’re not…” She presses her lips together and leaves the rest unsaid. It’s awkward to talk about, even if it’s obvious.

She pulls in a slow breath and drags her gaze up to meet his, smiling shyly and a little sadly. “I want... to leave _something_ for the right girl, when you find her.”

It’s clear she catches him by surprise with that remark. “Alisha,” he starts, sounding uncertain, but she spares him a response with a finger on his lips.

“We can think of ourselves now and again,” she reminds him, echoing his words. “That goes for you, as well.”

Mikleo doesn’t answer, but she doesn’t really expect him to.

A sudden, gentle knock at the door surprises them both.

“M’lady, dinner is ready.”

Alisha holds Mikleo’s gaze for a few seconds more, and then withdraws her touch. “Thank you, I’m coming,” she calls back.

“I’ll leave you to it, then.” He stands up and she follows.

“Would you like to join me?” she offers. “If you don’t mind returning late…”

“Thanks, but I’m fine. I need to get ready for the trip, anyway.” His tone and expression are back to their usual casual.

Alisha nods lightly. “Very well. Good luck—and stay safe.” She takes his hand one last time and gives it a gentle, emphatic squeeze.

They part at the terrace door, so she isn’t there when Mikleo pauses on the steps. She doesn’t see his conflicted expression or hear his quiet sigh.

She doesn’t see that he lingers there for a long moment, or the way he lightly bounces his fist on the railing in what can only be mild exasperation. 

She doesn’t hear him breathe _The right girl_ with obvious irony before departing at an unhurried pace.


	5. Chapter 5

“Mikleo!”

His shoulders jerk in surprise. He quickly turns to find Melody at his elbow, her shock of bright red hair tumbling around her smile in the mountain breeze.

“Oh－I’m sorry. What did you say?”

Her lips twist slightly as if fighting a different expression, but she chuckles as she looks out over the eastern skyline. “I don’t think I’ve found you staring off in _this_ direction before.” She looks at him again. “Thinking of someone?”

“No,” he says quickly, a knee-jerk response that immediately makes him wince. “I mean－no one… in particular, really. I’m just wondering how the others are doing.” He pretends not to notice the shade of teasing in her face. He’s convinced that’s where Sorey got it from.

“I see.” It sounds a bit patronizing, as if she’s only saying it to appease him, but then she’s turning away to look back across the village. “As glad as I am to have you back, Mikleo, you can see we’re doing just fine. If you think you need to head back to your friends, you shouldn’t let us keep you.”

That prompts a grim half-smile. Mikleo can only guess how much it stings her to say that. Everyone was shaken the day he returned without Sorey at his side, but Melody and Natalie took it the hardest. Outwardly, at least.

He takes a step over to move back into her line of sight. “No, it’s only been a few days. I trust they’re fine.” She catches his eye and he doesn’t miss the relief in her gaze. “So, did you need something?” he asks, changing the subject.

“Nothing much. I was just wondering if you’d like to help me prepare dinner tonight.” Her smile quirks. “It’s been so long since I’ve been to the world below, you know… and I trust your culinary expertise. Maybe you can give me some ideas to mix things up?”

It’s a bit of an odd request, coming from a fire seraph to a water seraph, but this is probably her way of getting some personal time with him while he’s here. He doesn’t need to think about his answer.

“Sure. What did you have in mind?”

Minutes later they’re setting up preparations in Melody’s house, one of the few dwellings to have dedicated much of the interior to a kitchen area. She makes quick, practiced work of hauling the stone cauldron into the hearth, cheerfully waving off his offer to help with the load. She wisps a fire into existence underneath it as he fills it with water, and then directs him to her storage of spices to take inventory, “limited though it must be after all you’ve seen.”

He’s still shifting through her shelves when Myrna enters. “Well now, here’s a sight!” she says brightly, her perky voice filling the room as it always does. “How long’s it been since our Mikleo prepared food for someone other than Sorey?”

He audibly scoffs, but it’s in good humor. “Considering I never had to force-feed anyone else to keep them alive? Maybe never.”

Both women chuckle. “Well, I won’t get in your way,” Myrna tells him. “You just point me where you need me to lend a hand.”

Three cooks seems like a bit much, but Mikleo doesn’t say it out loud. He just thanks her as he continues to peruse the spice jars.

His suspicion is answered soon enough.

“In the meantime, you really should tell us some more about what you’ve been up to,” Myrna adds casually. “I know you’ve been busy as a Sub Lord, but you don’t talk about your personal life much.”

He cocks an eyebrow as he opens a jar to sniff the contents, even though she’s behind him and can’t see the look. “That _is_ my personal life,” he points out, amused. “My friends and companions are the same people, so it’s really just the same thing every day.” Having lived in the same isolated village for a few centuries, surely she would know that kind of life better than most.

Myrna gives one of those prim little sighs, the kind she would make when Sorey or Mikleo－usually both－ended up in some kind of trouble and she didn’t have the heart to speak to them too sternly. “You always were so secretive.”

He casts her a bewildered glance and curious smile. “Well, I’ve spent a lot of my free time in the ruins beneath Ladylake,” he muses, moving on to the next jar. “If you want to hear about that…”

“Oh, come now, Mikleo－” She waves her hand as if smacking the idea aside, the motion impatient. “Stop being so stubborn. Tell us who this special girl is already!”

He inhales sharply in surprise－and breathes in a noseful of pepper.

Even as he breaks into a fit of coughing, he hears Melody admonish, _“Myrna!”_ but the tone is half-hearted and teasing and it’s all too clear she’s of the same mind. When he finally manages to wipe the last of his agitated tears away, he looks up through blurred eyes to find both of them watching him with sly expressions.

“What－” He coughs again, nearly dropping the jar as he hurriedly sets it back down. “What kind of question is that?”

Myrna clicks her tongue as Melody all but rolls her eyes. “Please, Mikleo, all the ladies picked up on it the first day you came back.”

“On _what?_ ” he mutters, only because feigning ignorance is slightly less telling than not saying anything at all.

Judging by the way Myrna plants her hands on her hips and fixes him with A Look, she doesn’t buy it for a second. “Staring into space, for one.”

“Staring off towards _Hyland_ ,” Melody interjects.

“You’re even quieter than usual－”

“And you’ve been sighing a lot－”

“I don’t sigh!” Mikleo objects. They both exchange knowing looks.

“At first I thought you might have been－upset,” says Melody tentatively. She doesn’t need to add the unspoken _again_ or the implied _about Sorey_. “But I’ve seen the way you smile sometimes, at some things－as though they remind you of someone.”

“And you’re always quick to hide it,” Myrna points out with a tilt of her head.

He hopes they assume the heat in his face is only from his coughing fit. “It－It’s not like that,” he says after a moment, but it falls flat in his own ears. Naturally, he isn’t as sharp-tongued with family－other than Sorey－as he is with everyone else. Without his usual temper backing him up, his tone sounds weak and uncertain in comparison. Or maybe that’s simply the honesty coming out.

Rather than argue, they only watch him in expectant silence. He quickly decides that’s worse.

“You don’t have to tell us _who_ it is,” Melody reasons, although her almost-pout says she wishes he would. She’s no longer pretending to busy herself with the fire. “But at least tell us how it’s going.”

Mikleo is tempted to take up that offer, if just to assure that they don’t start guessing names－but his pride and dignity are even more on-edge than usual. He never talked about this kind of thing with anyone while growing up. There was never a reason or opportunity for it to come up, really, and even if it did, the women of the family wouldn’t have been his first choice for discussing the topic.

Once again, he realizes he’s stalled too long to make a believable recovery. He frowns, annoyed at himself more than anything.

“It’s…” His eyes settle distractedly on the fireplace. He tugs on his sleeve. “It’s really nothing,” he blurts quickly, wincing as his chest tightens with embarrassment. It’s odd feeling this awkward around family. “She doesn’t know. And that’s fine, since－it couldn’t work, so…”

In the corner of his eye he sees Melody clasp her hands excitedly beneath her chin. “Oh, Mikleo!”

“Who’s to say that?” Myrna wonders. Then, sympathetically, she guesses, “Ahh－fallen for an older lady, have you?”

“No,” he says quickly. “Not－not much older. She just－has her responsibilities. And I have mine.”

“Oh, a lady in _power_ , hm?”

Mikleo steals a wary glance at them, afraid he’s said too much, but there’s nothing disapproving in those warm looks they’ve fixed him with.

“Well, if she isn’t ‘much’ older, then it can’t be Lady Lailah,” says Melody thoughtfully.

“No, it isn’t Lailah!” he splutters, exasperated.

“Maybe a Lord of the Land, then,” Myrna muses in return, as if Mikleo isn’t standing right there. “Last I heard, none of the shrine seraphim were ladies…”

Predictably, they’re both assuming it’s a seraph in question－and Mikleo isn’t sure if he feels better or worse. There’s no way they’ll guess who it is without him admitting it, but if they ever do find out…

Then again, they already raised him to love one human despite knowing what it would mean in the end. Would they really disapprove of him doing so again－albeit in a very different and much more complicated context?

Maybe not disapprove, but they would worry.

But like he told them, it doesn’t really matter, anyway.

“Well, whoever she is,” Myrna chuckles heartily, tugging him out of his thoughts, “she must be special indeed if she’s got you looking at something other than ruins out there.”

Melody giggles as Mikleo colors a couple shades deeper. “She must! Oh, Mikleo, you _should_ tell her how you feel. It isn’t good to pine away like this.”

“I’m _not_ pining.” Is he?

Unsurprisingly, Myrna agrees. “It can only go one of two ways, can’t it? She feels the same, and you’re both happy. Or she doesn’t, and she misses out on a wonderfully smart and handsome young man, which is a real shame for her.”

Mikleo shifts his weight, awkward in a different way now. “...You’re really simplifying things.”

“And you’re complicating them, knowing you.” She arches an eyebrow in a way that reflexively makes him want to apologize. When she smiles a moment later, it’s gentle. “I’m sure you’ve thought long and hard about this, Mikleo, but don’t _over_ think it. No one wants to have their heart broken, but no one wants to look back and wonder what could have been, either.”

Something about those words hits Mikleo hard enough to make his breath catch. For a few beats he only stares at her, turning that blunt logic over, until Melody speaks up.

“All the same, I’m glad you’ve found someone you’re close to,” she says warmly. “If you’re lucky, maybe she’ll be there with you to make the wait for Sorey a little easier.”

Mikleo humors her kindness and smiles, hiding how deeply that impossibility stings.

* * *

Mikleo remains in Elysia for a week. It’s hard to pull himself away, but everyone is supportive and encourages him to do his best and to visit again as soon as he can. As Myrna embraces him, she whispers that he should bring his _friends_ along next time, and he pretends not to notice the teasingly hopeful look in her eyes－just as he’s pretended to overlook all the curious glances and smothered smiles that the rest of the women have been giving him for the past few days.

The trip back to Ladylake is uneventful, although he immediately notices a shift in the atmosphere when he emerges from Aroundight Forest. It’s so minor that for a moment he considers that the Elysian air and Kyme’s domain might have muddled his senses somewhat, but even halfway across Lakehaven Heights a day later, there’s no sign of a significant rise in malevolence.

It’s a _good_ thing, but it doesn’t sit right with his instincts. After dealing with such an up-and-down pattern for the last few months, he would expect to see another rise by now. It feels less like victory and more like the calm before the storm.

He can already tell Rose isn’t in Ladylake. Their connection ran thin while in Elysia, but it never broke, and now he feels the usual distance between them. Perhaps she was lucky and managed to cull the latest outbreak before it became too far widespread.

The city is likewise at ease, peaceful amid the evening bustle when he arrives. Alisha isn’t anywhere to be seen on the outside of her manor, so Mikleo lets himself in through the side door with the key she gave him for such occasions.

Tired though he is, he bypasses his guest room for hers when he sees a glimpse of light beneath the door. He pauses just short, listening for any voices, and then knocks quietly.

“Enter.”

His first surprise is that she’s already in bed at this hour. The second is the sight of her unkempt hair, bright red nose, and exhausted face.

Her tired eyes widen when she sees him and she sits up straight, breaking into a smile. “Mikleo! You’ve returned!” Her voice is a sickly match, thin and nasally. She holds a folded rag against her forehead to keep it from falling.

Mikleo frowns with concern as he nears her bedside. “Are you alright?”

She pushes her hair back from her shoulders, both damp with sweat. “Yes. Just the most miserable cold of my life, I believe.”

His quiet laugh is sympathetic. He sits on the edge of the bed and faces her. “Right after you recovered, too. You have it rough.”

Alisha shakes her head with a crooked smile. “Truly, I shouldn’t complain. I’m well taken care of.”

He doesn’t doubt she’ll fervently bounce back from it as soon as she’s able. “Can I get you anything?”

“No, thank you. But I apologize for being－ Excuse m－” She snatches up a handkerchief to sneeze into it, a high-pitched and dainty noise that immediately makes it onto Mikleo’s short list of things he finds cute. She sniffs pitifully a moment later. “I’m sorry,” she says thickly, leaning back into her pillows again, “but I won’t be of much use like this. Neither would I ask you to tolerate me when I’m so－” She sneezes again.

Her hands fall heavily back to her lap, a frustrated movement, but Mikleo can’t help a small, fond smile. This far under the weather and she’s still thinking of everyone and everything other than herself.

“There’s nothing to apologize for.” Climbing to his feet, he leans over and tugs her blanket up further to make sure she’s snug. “Really,” he adds thoughtfully, “it’s a shame you seem so miserable, but this is as good a reason as any to make sure you get some proper rest.”

“I’ve been resting.” The way she doesn’t quite meet his eyes says she catches his implication. He doesn’t argue.

“You could always use more.” Mikleo tenderly peels the hot rag from her forehead to hold it between his hands, and then returns it, damp and cool, a moment later.

“Thank you. But you really needn’t risk catching ill for my sake.” She looks genuinely concerned at the thought. “You should keep your distance.”

“I’ll be fine staying for a while,” he says as he sits on the edge again, now a little further back, “if that’s not too overbearing. And assuming you want the company.”

Her lips twist with a small smile as though he’s said something silly. “Your company is never overbearing, Mikleo.”

He trades her an amused look of his own as though her words don’t sting and please him at the same time. “And anyway,” he assures her, “I think I’m pretty resilient when it comes to this kind of thing. You’d be surprised how much of my childhood was spent looking after Sorey when he was sick.”

She must miss the irony in his tone, because her expression is a mix of shock and concern. “O-Oh－He wasn’t－sickly as a child, was he?”

Mikleo stares at her for a split-second before breaking into a short laugh. “No, nothing like that. He just didn’t take very good care of himself, so I usually had to pick up the slack.”

“Ah…” Alisha chuckles behind her hand. “So it wasn’t just cooking, then?”

“Definitely not,” he sighs, not bothering to mask his annoyance. “Gramps and everyone took care of us, of course, but the two of us weren’t apart very much, so… it just became a habit, I guess.”

“So you’ve always looked after him.”

“Pretty much. He was such a baby about taking medicine, too. That was the worst. And if you think he’s antsy now, you should’ve seen him when he had to stay in bed for more than a few hours.” Watching Alisha struggle and fail to hold back a laugh, Mikleo adds, “So don’t worry. Compared to that, you’re easy to take care of.”

“I would hope so.”

There’s a moment of pleasant, relaxed silence after that. Mikleo idly runs his fingers over the floral pattern on her comforter, thinking of those days he just described.

It’s the first time he’s talked about Sorey without the usual sting of sadness, he realizes.

His hand falls still.

“How was your journey home?” Alisha asks.

He quickly looks up to find her expression patiently expectant. She didn’t notice his startled stupor just now. “It, ah, it went well,” he replies, meaning it. “I think I needed the fresh air more than I realized.”

“I’m glad to hear it. And everyone’s doing well?”

“Very. Although I’m starting to understand this ‘empty nest syndrome’ I’ve heard about.”

Alisha giggles. “Well, we have kept you away for quite some time. I can’t blame them for missing you.”

He doesn’t ask for information about the malevolence issue, but naturally, she offers it. She confirms that there were no changes during his absence, and explains that Rose was likewise suspicious and set out to investigate some of the previous sites. When Mikleo doesn’t respond, she asks,

“What do you think it means?”

“...I don’t know,” he admits. “Something good, I hope. But…” He won’t patronize her with fake optimism. “It’s just a feeling I have, that’s all. We’ll just have to wait and see.”

Intent on helping her rest, Mikleo quickly shifts the subject back to Elysia, which soon leads into some more stories from childhood, and from there the conversation becomes one-sided for the most part. Rather than falling asleep, however, Alisha only looks more awake as she listens, occasionally commenting but mostly chuckling or gasping at surprises, constantly amazed at all the reckless trouble that two young boys could and did get into.

Mikleo doesn’t mind that it’s Sorey tying the two of them together yet again. This feels right: remembering the things he ought to remember, committing them to memory all over again, sharing bits and pieces of Sorey’s story that only he knows. It does ache, but he’s used to it－and every so often when they laugh, and Alisha’s face flushes a little pinker as her bright eyes crease, that ache fades again, just for a moment.

He’s just finished telling her about the near-disaster that was his and Sorey’s first unsupervised prickleboar hunt when a maid enters, bearing some medicine and a small meal. After getting most of it down, Alisha becomes even less talkative as the drug swiftly kicks in. She soon lies down, her blankets pulled up to her chin.

“I’d like to hear more,” she says sleepily, but cheerfully.

Mikleo moves a little closer, running a hand lightly over her side. He leans over so she doesn’t have to strain to look him in the eye. “I’ll tell you more. But later. You should rest for now.”

It’s hard to tell whether her hum is agreement or disappointment, but her shoulders relax with a small sigh. “Tomorrow?”

“Sure.”

Her tired smile peeks over the edge of the blanket. “I’m glad.” She stares at him for so long that he starts to wonder if she’s expecting something, but then she suddenly murmurs, “It’s pretty.” 

Mikleo notices her stare is fixed just above his eyes at the same time he realizes his bangs have fallen partway to the side.

“You always take it off,” Alisha points out thoughtfully. “Before we start.”

He isn’t sure how lucid she is, but either her medicine or her exhaustion, or both, is interfering with her head a bit if she’s being that direct. Not the best time to explain, he decides.

“I’ll tell you that story next time,” he promises quietly.

“Mm. Alright.” Alisha’s eyes slide over his face one more time before closing, and he catches the playful smile that passes briefly over her mouth.

“What was that?” he asks, amused and wary.

She shakes her head weakly, but the smile returns. “Nothing… I was just... thinking that…” Again she studies him, eyes heavy but focused. “...I think you would look really nice with long hair.”

His eyebrows shoot up in surprise as much as skepticism. “What?”

Alisha squirms in place and he thinks it might be a shrug. “It’s just a thought.” If speaking her opinion so freely wasn’t already a sign of her fatigued delirium, then the lack of an immediate, self-conscious apology certainly is.

He sits up straight again, amusement in his soft exhale. “I’ll see you tomorrow, Alisha.”

She doesn’t answer. Her breathing is already heavy, her face slack and peaceful.

Mikleo doesn’t linger long. He turns down her lamps, shuts her windows against the encroaching chill of late night, and then returns to her bedside to press a light kiss to her hair before leaving.


End file.
